


Sweet Deceptions

by ConstantlyTiredReader



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (mild), Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Angst, Blind Date, Cute, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Just Two Awkward Beans Trying to Be Friends, LV Issues, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Papyrus (Undertale) Needs a Hug, Prejudice Against Monsters (Undertale), Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader-Insert, Sans (Undertale) Needs a Hug, Shovel Talk, Swapfell Alphys (Undertale), Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Sans (Undertale), Swapfell Toriel (Undertale), Swapfell Undyne (Undertale), Threats of Violence, hugs for everyone, reader has no specified gender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2020-01-31 20:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18598597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyTiredReader/pseuds/ConstantlyTiredReader
Summary: Agreeing to go on a blind date was a bad idea from the start. You have no interest in a relationship, no matter how "perfect" you and Papyrus would be together.At least Papyrus agrees with you on this.Too bad literally everyone else you meet is convinced the two of you are dating.





	1. A Plate of Nachos and an Agreement

Why did you let yourself get talked into this?

Normally, you would ask _how_ instead of _why_ , but the answer to that question is obvious: it would have meant fighting Alphys, and one simply doesn’t fight a monster. _Especially_ not the former captain of their Royal Guard, a military force renowned for its violence even among monster standards. If rumours are to be believed, the mere thought of such a thing would be a death sentence.

Although, you can at least say the context of you fighting with Alphys now is far different than it would have been if you were Underground. The sheer amount of times she has casually mentioned how she probably would have killed you back then should probably be concerning, to be honest. But, hey, you rather she be truthful with you than try to cover up her past.

Besides, you can confidently say she would never try to hurt you now, and that is the important part.

In middle school, you had a teacher who once said certain friendships come into existence entirely by the fate of the universe. You never agreed with them on anything — you still think you should have gotten a much higher mark on that one project — but you would be lying if you didn’t say your entire friendship with Alphys would never have happened if the stars had aligned in a slightly different way. There is no other way to explain how the brash monster you met at the gym became your bestie. It isn’t like you have much in common. She just needed someone to spot her, and you were the nearest victim, too intimidated by all the gym equipment to try and put your New Year’s resolution of getting more fit into action. Since that fateful day, you have earned the nickname Spot for your services and she has gained an occasional workout buddy.

Emphasis on occasional.

Just because you made the resolution, it doesn’t mean you stuck with it. And even if you did, you will never be able to reach her level or her intensity. You can accept your limits, thank you very much.

In any case, you were doomed from the moment the lizard monster snuck up behind you at the park, grabbing your shoulders with a force that you can still remember nearly a week later.

“Hey, nerd,” she had said, spinning you around to face her like you weighed absolutely nothing. To be fair, though, with her muscles, that probably isn’t too far off from the truth. “You’re going on a date!”

As soon as you were confident that your heart didn’t stop from the sneak attack, you replied, “Nice to see you too, Alph. Also, feel like kindly explaining what the fuck?”

She grinned aggressively, putting her pointed teeth on prominent display. “Well, depending on how the date goes~” Just in case you hadn’t already caught her drift, she started wiggling her brows suggestively.

Face heated, you reached up to cover her mouth, only for her to cackle and dodge your attempt. “Shut up!”

“And miss the chance for your tiny human voice to get so squeaky? Never! Have you stretched yet?” You shook your head. “Well, get on it, punk. The last thing I need to do today is bring you to the hospital because you pull something.”

“ _Fine_ ,” you sighed, rolling your eyes defiantly. “Seriously though. Feel like explaining?”

“Yeah, I guess I can.” Alphys backed up a few steps, providing both of you with more space to warm up. Two joggers slowed down as they passed by, eyeing Alphys before regaining their pace. You weren’t sure if it was because she was a monster of if they were just checking out her muscles, though; both are fairly common reactions. “So, I was talking with Undyne—”

“ _Oooooooooooohhh~_ ” Your interjection may have earned you a bruising punch to the arm, but it was worth it to see the fearsome warrior’s scales flush for a few seconds.  _So_ worth it.

“— when she brought up this guy who would be just _perfect_ for you!”

You groaned. Even though you knew it was coming, it didn’t mean it was any less annoying to hear. “And what if I’m not interested in a relationship?”

“I never said you’ll have to marry him. It’s just one blind date, okay? I may not know Papyrus well, but he’s a nice guy. Weird maybe, but nice.”

You frowned, unable to help yourself. As much as you hate lumping an entire people together, you have to admit that the monster definition of “nice” tends to be a bit… _different_ … from the human one. And needless to say, as much as you like her, Alphys isn’t always the most reliable source when it comes to this type of thing. At best, you can call her biased. At worst, you could say that whatever injury caused her to lose an eye messed not only with her depth perception but also her ability to perceive people’s behavior.

Still, you figured that, at this point, she should be familiar enough with your weaknesses to be able to tell if a situation is too risky for you.

You hoped.

In any case, you didn’t get too much time to think, as Alphys had made the executive decision that warm-up stretches were done for the day. Without a word, she started running — no, _sprinting_ — down the trail. “Hey, wait up!”

Now, something you have learned in the year and a half that you have known Alphys is that spending time with her can be exhausting, on multiple levels. At first, when your interactions were limited to the gym, you had simply assumed it was because you were far less fit than her. Although true, it turned out there is so much more than that. Part of it is probably because of her role as Captain. She may not really talk about what her job used to entail — which is probably for the better — but it wouldn’t surprise you at all if she had been trained to mess with people’s heads. Interrogation, and all that jazz.

All this is to say that, before you had finished your run, she had worn down your defenses and convinced you to agree to the date.

That, of course, brings you to the present.

Sitting alone in a corner booth at some bar, a bright purple beret is perched upon your head. When she showed up (way too freaking early) at your door this morning, Alphys had shoved the hat into your hands, explaining that it would serve as a sign to help your date identify you. You definitely appreciate the gesture; you would rather your date come to you than walk around asking every monster you see if they are your date. Swirling the straw in your drink, you stare bored at the sports game playing on the tv across the room.

This is what you get, you suppose, for showing up to the date over half an hour early. Why did you do this again? It isn’t like you wanted to be here.

On the plus side, your nachos should be arriving soon. That is always a fun thing.

Unlike blind dates.

By the time you are roughly a quarter through your plate, a tall shadow looms over the table. “h-hi, are you…?”

Glancing up, you cannot believe your eyes. “Papyrus?”

The tall skeleton, clad in jeans and a dark hoodie, hesitates before giving a small nod. “you know my name?”

“Well, yeah.” Despite trying to keep you in the dark about as much of the date as possible, Alphys knew it would relieve a lot of stress if you could at least now the name of your date before you got to the bar. However, that isn’t the real reason why you were able to guess right away. “I’ve seen you at work.”

“oh.” Papyrus shifts tentatively on his feet, hiding his hands in his pockets.

“You can sit down, you know.”

His skull colours slightly and he stares down at his feet, then you. “oh. yeah. right.” With an awkwardness you can’t help but relate to on multiple levels, he shuffles into the booth across from you. It is debatable who winces more when he hits a knee on the table in the process: you or him?

Once he is finally seated, you can’t help but feel like he is staring straight into your soul. You try to suppress a shiver; you don’t want him to get the wrong impression. It isn't hard to imagine that the poor guy is used to humans being scared of him; you know a lot of people who find monsters intimidating, let alone a big skeleton with razor-sharp teeth. Although, compared to Alphys, Papyrus is nothing. His sweater looks fuzzy, for goodness sake! Who can be scary while wearing a fuzzy sweater?

Then again, your ability to feel fear has probably been warped since meeting the Captain.

Either way, your date seems to notice your discomfort. His face inflames with a reddish-orange blush, and light bounces off his gold tooth as he sharply looks aside.

Suddenly, it occurs to you that just because you recognise him, it doesn’t mean that he has a clue who you are. Needless to say, a skeleton monster is more memorable than a generic human who works at a music shop. “Yeah, you’re actually one of my favourite customers.” Great, that probably sounds creepy. Nothing screams stalker like that. Plus, that still doesn’t explain to the poor guy where you recognise him from. “I work at No Strings Attached, that one music place just a few blocks off Main? I probably see you about once, maybe twice a week. You’re just always nice and respectful, and you never leave a mess in the sitting area, which I really appreciate, by the way. You have no idea what kind of things I have to clean up there sometimes.” Great, now you’re rambling. Fantastic.

At least your word vomit seems to spark some recognition in his eye… sockets? You guess? “it’s... it’s no _treble_. it’s a nice place. quiet.”

A small smile makes its way onto you your face at the pun. Sure, it may be old as all get out, but it is a classic for a reason. “Yeah, it sure is. Uniform’s pretty comfortable too, which is a definite step up from my old job.”

A server passes by, taking Papyrus’ order and grabbing your drink for a refill. You sit in silence, fiddling with your coaster. What are you supposed to say now? Because it sure doesn’t look like he is going to start talking any time soon. How are you the more talkative person here? Most of the time, that isn’t normal.

Why did you allow yourself to get talked into this?

The server returns. At least when you have a drink, you can play off not wanting to talk by pretending to be thirsty. Right now, it probably looks like you have been deprived of hydration for the past three months. Your bladder may start protesting in a few minutes, but worst-case scenario, it gives you an excuse to leave.

A trickle of guilt hits you when you make eye contact with Papyrus, though. Just because you don’t want to be here, it doesn’t mean you can blow him off like that. You doubt he signed up to go on a blind date with someone like you. Quietness aside, he has been a pretty decent person, which is more than you can say for some of your other experiences.

You glance at your nachos. You have so much more left than you thought; there is no way you are finishing it. “Hey,” you say, clearing your throat. “Want some?”

“you sure?”

You shrug. “Go for it.” If he doesn’t, it just means that you will be boxing it up. Nachos wouldn’t make for the worst breakfast, would they? For good measure, you slide the plate closer to him. His hand hovers over the table for a moment, waiting until you nod one more confirmation to dart for a cheesy chip. His face relaxes a bit while he chews.

“thanks.”

“No problem.” _Quick, think of something to say!_ “So, uh, how do you know Alphys? Or,” you furrow your brow, remembering that your friend had an accomplice, “Undyne, I guess.”

“i work with ‘dyne. kinda. and my bro’s good friends with alphys. used to be her second in command and everything.”

Look at that: both of you are communicating. Success. “So, you know her too?”

“yeah. i, um, don’t spend much time with her, though. she can be, uh…”

“Intense?” you supply with a grin. He nods sheepishly. “Good to know I’m not alone in thinking that.” This earns a soft cough, almost a laugh.

You know, this seems like a good time to be upfront, while you are discussing your friend. Might as well clear this up sooner than later, right?

“Hey, Papyrus?” _Don’t chicken out, don’t chicken out._

“uh huh?” he mumbles around a mouthful of nachos.

_Don’t chicken out._

“I feel like I should be honest with you. Don’t get me wrong, you seem like a great guy and all, but I’m not really into the idea of a relationship. With anyone, not just you. Seriously, it’s not you that’s the problem. It’s me. Alphys just pressured me into this, and I suck at conflict, so I couldn’t say no, but I don’t want to give you the wrong impression or anything. And—”

Your nervous rambling cuts off when you see Papyrus raise his hand, just like a student at school. “thank the stars! i thought i was alone in that!”

Your brain buffers. “Wait, what?”

The tall skeleton grins, looking genuinely happy. Now that you think of it, it is the first time he has smiled tonight. It’s nice. “we’re apparently in the same boat. undyne talked me into it, and alphys told my bro. sans is always wanting me to make more friends, so i felt like i had to.”

“Well.” Good to know you aren’t the only one being slightly manipulated here.

“yeah.”

You laugh, taking another sip of your drink. That went better than you expected. What are the chances?

“so, what do we do now?”

“Well…” That is actually a good question. You didn’t have a plan going into this. If Alphys was here, she would scold you and go into a rant about how a warrior always has to be prepared. Then again, if Alphys was here, this wouldn’t be a blind date, which negates the point. “I guess you can go home, if you want. No pressure. Or we could stay here and be two friendly people eating food at a bar? Again, no pressure; I’m fine either way.”

“i’ll stay,” he decides, although with his quiet tone, it could just as well be a question.

“All right then. Hey, wanna hear some music jokes?” You may not be the best conversationalist, but you have learned enough of those over the years to help fill in some time.

“sure! music jokes may not be my _forte_ , but i think i know some that won’t fall _flat_.”

Oh, somebody is ready to rumble. “Papyrus, I feel like this is the beginning of a good friendship. So, one day C, E flat and G walk into a bar…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this first installment of the chaotic ideas that plague my brain when I'm in desperate need of sleep.
> 
> I have a "plan" for this, but it's very important to note that a "plan" is very different from a Plan. In other words, I may or may not be flying by the seat of my pants right now, but that's okay.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	2. A Hangout and a Pick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just two pals chilling together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some fluffiness since what little I know about the plot so far isn't cooperating.

In some ways, Alphys setting you up on that blind date was probably the best decision she has made since you met her. Not that you would ever tell her that, of course; you don’t need that knowledge going to her head.

Besides, knowing her, she would find a way to use that information against you someday.

Your hangouts with Papyrus are honestly becoming the highlight of your week, every week. Besides having some quality puns, he is a pretty chill dude. After exchanging phone numbers — an outcome of the blind date you had initially been planning to avoid — he usually texts to ask for your work schedule. At first, he was being strangely tight-lipped about it. The tall skeleton denied it when you asked, claiming it is impossible to be tight-lipped when you have no lips to begin with, sarcastic turd that he can be.

Eventually, you clued into why he asked, recognising a pattern. On days that you work, he shows up to sit in the quiet corner, as you like to call the sitting area where people sometimes wait for music lessons. Nothing weird there; he has been doing that almost as long as you have worked there. None of your coworkers mind too much; technically, there is nothing stopping anyone from chilling there for hours, listening to music on the store computers, CD players or even the one remaining walkman that somehow hasn't died yet. Even those who you know are scared of monsters stay quiet about Papyrus’ semi-regular presence. As for what he does when he is there, you aren't exactly sure.

All you do know is that, like clockwork, as soon as your shift ends, he gets up, pays for some sort of small purchase (you don't want to ask how many electric kazoos he has at this point) and says hi to you, like it is a surprise to see you at No Strings Attached. And every time, you ask if he wants to hang out for a bit, or maybe walk home with you. He quietly nods, and the two of you get on your merry way.

One day, you hope he will feel open enough with you to simply ask to hang out, or show up at your home to chill for a bit; this whole inventing "casual" opportunities to see each other is a bit much. But hey, whatever works for him. He  _is_ the one putting in a lot of the effort to build up your friendship, after all.

With only ten minutes left on shift and Papyrus the only customer at the store, you start to plan today's activity. Looking out the store windows as you reorganise the intermediate guitar book section, you can see clear skies with bright sunshine. Additionally, this is the first time all week you have seen passersby walking around without raincoats and umbrellas. Yesterday, even Shirtless Rollerblading Guitar Guy had one on, which really says something. Seriously.

Scrunching up your face in annoyance, you move the advanced jazz flute book back to its proper home. Who decided to put it in with the country guitar section, of all places? Ugh. While you are at it, you give a quick wave to Papyrus. He doesn't respond, but you can't be sure he noticed you with the heavy, over the ear headphones he has got on. That, or he wants to stick to your normal routine of meeting up once you are done.

Right; you still need to make some plans.

Let’s see…

It is a little out of your way, but you know a park the two of you could go to for a while. If you hurry, you might even be able to visit a food truck before they close for the day. What's better than a nice snack after work? Nothing, that's what. Well, it would be better if it was free, but you could say that about most things in life, so it doesn't count.

The fact that seals the deal about the park is when you recall some of the gardens they have. You don't know about Papyrus, but every other monster you have spoken to has mentioned how much they like all the grass and flowers on the Surface. Something about how it makes their freedom seem a bit more real. You guess it makes sense; a lot of this stuff probably didn't grow so well underneath a mountain and with the whole violence thing, they probably wouldn't have gotten the chance to enjoy it even if it was there. So, if Papyrus wants, you guys could walk around for a bit or sit down for a while, with no pressure to make small talk or anything like that.

Sometimes, it is nice to just coexist silently in the company of a friend after a long day of dealing with people.

Across the store, you hear Heather call your name. Her pale, greenish face is explanation enough. “Yeah, I can take over cash for a bit.” She nods, dark curls bouncing, and gives you a quick thumbs-up before scurrying to the bathroom. If there is one thing you have learned along with your coworker these past few weeks, it is that morning sickness is absolutely _not_ exclusive to before lunchtime.

 _Right on time_ , you think to yourself as Papyrus shows up to the register roughly a minute and a half before you clock out for the day. With a small smile, he places his hand on the counter, sliding it towards you. When he lifts his hand away, you can't help but to roll your eyes. A single, glow in the dark guitar pick sits in front of you. Does he even own an instrument to use a pick? You certainly haven't sold him one, unless he has discovered a way to incorporate it into playing a recorder, a harmonica or a slide whistle.

For whatever reason, the scanner chooses this moment to be a pain. Carefully, you try adjusting the angle of the pick. “Hey, dude, what's up?”

His eye lights dart up to the ceiling. “i dunno, looks like water damage.”

Sure enough, he is correct. A small water stain, about the diameter of a golfball, decorates the ceiling right above your head. At least it isn’t over the instruments; if there was a leak, it could cause a lot of damage. “Shoot! Remind me to tell my boss about that,” you grimace.

He nods seriously. “don't forget to tell your boss about that.”

“Smartass,” you mutter under your breath, hoping the new guy organising the guitar strings can't hear you. Based on the lack of appalled looks in your direction, you guess you should be fine. Louder, with an overdone retail voice, you add, “Is this everything for you today, sir?” Papyrus snorts softly in response, which you take as encouragement to act even more like a brainwashed customer service zombie, plastic smile and all. “Your total comes up to ninety-five cents.  How will you be paying, sir?”

“debit,” he smirks, handing you a pocketful of loose change. Naturally, it is the exact amount. “can i have a bag? it's a gift.”

“Of course.” You pluck up the pick and drop it into a bag. Somehow, you manage not to laugh when you hand it to him. The bewildered look he gets when you hold up a bag large enough to use in a potato sack race? Priceless. “Have a nice day.”

"thanks. you too."

Heather returns from the bathroom, allowing you to officially leave. Bag in hand, you rush to catch up to Papyrus and his stupidly long legs. No, you aren’t at all jealous of that, or the fact that he can effortlessly reach things in the store that even the tallest of your coworkers have to use step stools for. Not at all.

Fine, maybe you are a little jealous of your vertically blessed buddy. That just means that he is officially in charge of reaching everything, so the joke’s on him.

After trying to catch up to him for over half a block, though, you decide to give up. “Yo, ‘Rus! Slow down!”

He stops, turning around to look at you. You swear you can see a mischievous glint in his eye lights despite the distance between you. Sure enough, he stalks off faster. It looks like you are going to have to put your workouts with Alphys to good use.

Naturally, as soon as you get close to him, Papyrus comes abruptly to a halt. You try to stop, you really do. However, momentum fights against you and you end up with a mouthful of his hoodie as you crash into his back.

“oh,” he says, turning around like nothing happened, “hi.” His shoulders shake with barely repressed laughter.

“Hi to you too.” You wrinkle your nose; it feels like you have a fuzz stuck on your tongue. “Feel like going for a walk?”

He shrugs, waiting for you to take the lead. “why? want a bodyguard to escort you home?”

“Yeah,” you snort, “that's _definitely_ why I asked. Not like I actually enjoy your company or something. C'mon, I've seen puppies more threatening than you.”

“hey, dogs can be vicious. don't knock ‘em ‘til they have a _bone_ to pick with you.”

You stop, waiting for the light to change. Despite the current lack of traffic, experience tells you that crossing now on this road would likely result in a game of real-life Frogger. With the time to think, you consider what Papyrus just said. “Literally?”

“you have no idea,” he grimaces. “where are we going?”

“The park. I want coffee,” you say, shaking your head amusedly at how much he perks up at the mention of caffeine, “and the one pretzel truck makes some surprisingly decent iced drinks. And who knows; I might’ve found a twenty in my pocket earlier that I could be willing to donate to the ‘get Papyrus a snack foundation.’”

Those, it seems, are the magic words. As soon as the pedestrian light turns on, he eagerly grabs your wrist, practically dragging you across in his excitement. A shocked laugh escapes you as you follow behind; you don’t think you have ever seen him display so much energy.

The closer you get to the park, which is bustling with an activity unusual for this time of day, the quieter your friend gets. His gaze darts at every sound, and his posture is oddly stiff, contrasting with the gentle slouch you normally get to see at work. It reminds you of how a classmate with severe stage fright used to look before every oral presentation back in middle school. The only thing missing to make it a perfect impersonation is the sickly green tone their skin used to take. Then again, you doubt that last bit is possible in Papyrus’ case, given his lack of skin and all. Not that you mind; you deal with enough nausea from Heather on a regular basis. You certainly don't want to need to deal with it from him.

“Are you okay, dude?” Did you mess up in bringing him here? You know he likes his peace and quiet. Is this too much?

He gives one sharp nod, wringing his hands slightly before he hastily shoves them into his pockets. If you weren’t walking right beside him, you doubt you would hear his whispered, “‘m fine.”

You open your mouth to argue, only to stop. Eye lights glittering, Papyrus removes a hand from his pockets and quickly points at the pretzel truck. Taking that as encouragement, you make your way over.

The entire wait in line, Papyrus is vibrating with quiet energy. Each step closer to ordering, the more he bounces on his toes. The people in front of you, the living embodiment of a soccer mom and her young, rowdy child, turn around and glare at him. You glare back harder. Sure, Papyrus may be slightly fidgety, but at least he isn’t shrieking and deafening everyone else in the area, unlike a certain child you are currently staring at.

When the time comes to order, you just pick the first coffee and the first pretzel you see on the menu; with a line like this, you don’t want to be _that_ person who holds things up for forever because you can’t make a decision. Papyrus orders his own, but pauses hesitantly, turning to you.

“can i get a coffee too?”

Instinctively, you are ready to say yes; you had decided to treat him, after all. And you weren’t lying earlier; you really did find some unexpected cash in your pocket, so money isn’t the problem. However, a simple glance causes your Responsible Mom Friend instincts to kick in. Uncharacteristic jitteriness aside, Papyrus’ sockets are deeply underlined with dark shadows. Although this is far from the first time in your brief relationship that you have seen that, these circles are by far the worst ones. And now that you think about it, his eye lights don't look quite right either. 

“Depends. Are you going to be able to sleep tonight if you do?”

Papyrus fiddles with the string of his hoodie, head down. “no,” he sighs dramatically.

That’s what you thought. “Then no coffee. You could get a lemonade slushie,” you suggest, checking out the other options on the menu board.

“fine. as long as you’re paying.”

“Sure thing, my dude. Sure thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	3. A Walk in the Park and a Ruse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Papyrus encounter some more friends in the park.

Food in hand, you and Papyrus wander around for a bit. However, trying to manage your food while walking seems like a mistake in the making, so you quickly find a bench under some trees. A flock of pigeons gathers nearby, on the hunt for scraps of food. For the fun of it, you tear off a small piece of your pretzel and chuck it as close as you can to the middle of the group. Needless to say, it isn’t very close. Still, you are able to enjoy the cacophony of cooing as the birds rush over to eat. That’s always fun.

Your enjoyment, in fact, is so great that you almost don’t notice the figure leaning over your arm, slowly approaching your drink.

 _Almost_.

“Dude!” You swipe your coffee out of reach, preventing Papyrus from taking a rogue sip of caffeine. Thankfully, the lid prevents it from sloshing everywhere. “What gives?”

He shrugs sheepishly, hiding into his hood. “looked good?”

“I mean, valid, but that doesn’t mean you can just sneak a sip, you goof. Next time, _ask_.”

“fine. can i sneak a sip?”

You consider. “Sure.” A single sip shouldn’t mess with him getting some sleep. “But only if I can have some of your lemonade.”

“deal,” he says, handing out his lemonade to you.

“Thanks.” Just before he can grab your coffee, though, you pull back. He whines, pouting pretty convincingly. He even manages to jut his jaw in a way that almost replicates sticking out a lower lip in sadness. Impressive. “Hey, don’t give me that. Just remember our deal: a _sip_. In other words, don’t chug the entire thing.” With that taken care of, you complete the exchange.

“Yo nerd,” a familiar approaching voice calls out, “what are you doing here?”

You turn to your right, expecting Alphys to zoom past you during an early evening run. Instead, imagine your surprise when you see her all dolled up (by Alphys standards), arm wrapped around a tall, red-headed monster wearing a knee-length, polka dot dress. Based on the many, _many_ pictures you have been shown — plus the fact that Alphys is touching her so affectionately — this shark-toothed woman can only be Undyne.

“Hey Alphy, is that the human? P-Papyrus’ human?” _Papyrus’_ human? Excuse her, but you have known Alphys far longer than him. Shouldn’t that technically make you _her_ human? Not that you want to be referred to as anyone’s human, actually; your parents gave you a name for a reason.

“It sure as hell is, darling.” Her eye narrows. “Speaking of. Hey Mutt!” Alphys shouts. “What’re you doing here? Swapping spit with Spot?”

Papyrus looks down at your drink, which he returns to you. You take a small slurp of lemonade, shivering because of the cold, tangy sweetness. Passing it back, you also down a bunch of your iced coffee, lifting away the lid so you can drink faster than with the straw. Somehow, you have the sneaking suspicion that you will be needing the boost of caffeine to help you through this upcoming interaction.

“i guess?” Wait, _what_? Did you just hear what you think you heard?

Undyne squeals, dagger-like teeth on prominent display as her smile widens gleefully. She pushes her glasses up her nose, staring at you and Papyrus. The intensity of it makes you squirm uncomfortably. Knowing about her job, the best way to describe it is that she is examining you like a pair of specimens, and you don’t like it. Not at all.

“SWEET!” Alphys shoots out her arm, hand fisted. Without breaking eye contact with you or Papyrus, Undyne not-so-gently completes the fistbump. Seriously; why isn’t she blinking? Shouldn’t her eyes be drying out right now? Just blink already!

Then, like flipping a switch, words burble out of Undyne at a breakneck pace. “I can’t believe our plot actually worked! How many dates have you been on? Ooh, and where? I could probably find some good security vids to hack into! I could use some good material for my newest fic. Or should it be a manga? First human-monster romance since the Sealing, it should _definitely_ have illustration. In _depth_ , if you know what I mean. Human, what’s it like kissing a skeleton? I’ve asked Papyrus for years, but he’s always refused and I could never find—”

Finally, you recover from your stunned silence and remember how to speak. “ _What?!?!_ ” That is, you _mostly_ remember how to speak. Apparently, you could still use some time to reboot.

“— evidence. W-what do you mean, ‘what?’ Is it about the manga? B-because I can assure you, it will only contain t-tasteful nudity.”

All right, pause. That is a solid nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. And have you mentioned  _nope_! Also, you need _that_ information bleached out of your head, stat. “No! But also, yes?" You shake your head, trying to sort everything out. "We need to back up, all the way.”

“What is there to get, nerd? You and Papyrus _are_ dating. _Right_?” Somehow, despite technically being a question, the snarl she shoves into that word transforms it into a threat. If that wasn’t menacing enough, she leans close into your space. Not for the first time in your life, you thank the universe that you are somehow friends with Alphys and that you have never needed to sit across from her in an interrogation room.

“right,” Papyrus gulps, and what the hell? “we’re, um, definitely dating. super dating. i’m their boyfriend. as in, _boyfriend_ boyfriend, not just a boy who’s a friend. or, uh, i guess you could say i’m their _bone_ friend? heh.”

“Ooh, I d-definitely need to jot that one down,” Undyne mumbles, digging her phone out of…

“Wait,” you blurt out, momentarily distracted, “does that dress have pockets?”

“B-being the Royal Scientist has its perks,” she responds smugly. She turns to Papyrus, who is currently tugging at his sleeves, fingers poised to start typing. “So, what is it that you were saying about b-being their bonefriend?”

“uh…”

Before he can manage to bury you any deeper into whatever this is, Alphys’ work notification goes off. If you remember correctly, the small snippet of a melody is the opening line of the monster anthem. In any case, she loudly cracks her knuckles, making Papyrus wince beside you, and seizes her phone from her own pocket. She scowls at the screen.

“Ugh. Duty calls, babe. It looks like we’re going to have to cut date night short. Again. Well,” she leers in your general direction, “I guess we’ll be leaving you two love birds alone. Don’t get into _too_ much trouble.” She blinks exaggeratedly.

“D-dammit Alphy, until you let me work on an eye implant instead of that p-patch, you _know_ no one else can tell when you wink,” Undyne grumbles before (over)compensating for her girlfriend’s inability. You just sit, frozen, unsure what to make of this.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. See ya later, punks.”

As soon as you think that Alphys and Undyne are out of hearing range, you turn to hiss at Papyrus. “Why the hell did you say we were making out?!”

His eye sockets widen. In any other circumstance, it would probably be comical how much they increase in size. “i _what_?!?!”

“You said we were swapping spit! What did you think that means?”

“not that! i thought she meant _literally_ , which we technically were. straws aren’t exactly the best at protecting from saliva…”

Internally, you are torn between screaming and crying. For now, you are ignoring your question as to how and why a skeleton monster has saliva. You can save that one for a later time. More importantly, how on earth is it possible that he managed to mess that one up? You knew what Alphys meant. Hell, even your ultra conservative, eighty-four year old neighbour lady is familiar with that particular expression! It isn’t even like you can blame it on being a difference in cultures; Alphys is a monster too, and she is the one who brought it up.

“Okay. Fine. You were confused. But dude, why did you still say we're dating? There should be nothing confusing about that!”

“i panicked!”

“You're still panicking!”

“i know!” His eye lights are dilated, filling up too much space in his sockets. Impulsively, you grab his hands, stopping him from picking at his the hem of his sleeve and his arm. Bad decision. He recoils from the touch, eyes flaring with bright crimson magic. You scooch away immediately, hands raised, giving him more room on the bench. Just as fast as it happened, he takes a deep, shuddering breath. Now, his eye lights are barely pinpricks. Hoarsely, he whispers, “sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be. I shouldn't have done that.” You tilt your cup of iced coffee around, watching as you spin the liquid into a small whirlpool. You need to remain calm. If not for yourself, then for Papyrus. Neither of you will be able to get anywhere with this if you are both riled up. “So,” you exhale, “what do we do now?”

“i don’t know.”

You take another bite of your pretzel, buying yourself some time to think. Then another, because it tastes pretty good. Papyrus copies you, the cinnamon sugar coating of his snack creating a mess around him. Absently, you realise that neither of you remembered to grab any napkins. Hopefully, sugar is less sticky on bone than it is on skin.

Once more, your thought process is interrupted. Yapping loudly, a small, dark brown dog — perhaps some kind of terrier cross? — rushes up to Papyrus. The dog eagerly sniffs at his ankles.

“Hey there, pupper,” you coo, holding out your hand for the dog to sniff. “Where’s your owner at?” The dog ignores you completely, attention focused on Papyrus.

Suddenly, the skeleton yelps, tucking his feet up onto the bench. “hey! my ankles aren't chew toys.”

You look down at the pup, who tilts its head at you, licking its nose.

“Were you nipping at him? That's not a very nice thing to do,” you scold. You earn a sneeze in response.

“Cocoa? There you are!” A middle aged woman, wearing a pale pink turtleneck that seems very out of place with the current weather and a pair of matching sneakers, rushes over. “I’m sorry, his leash somehow got unattached from his collar, and he isn’t super well trained yet and —” She cuts off, eyes widening. Without another word, she clips the leash back onto Cocoa’s collar and speeds off.

“What’s her deal?”

“some humans… you know,” Papyrus shrugs, shifting to sit cross-legged instead of returning his long legs to the ground. He ends up kneeing you in the thigh. “i’m used to it.”

 _Oh_. Sure, you have seen some people act weirdly when you hang around with Alphys, but Alphys is Alphys. She thrives on intimidating pretty much everyone she meets, whether human _or_ monster. You asked once, and she said part of it is habit from the Underground. She was Captain; she _had_ to be respected, which was synonymous with being feared. As for the other part, the best way to summarise what she said is that intimidating people is a sort of coping mechanism, not that she used those words. It brings a thrill, she said, that satisfies a crave for LV. You may not get it, but in your opinion, it is better for Alphys to scare a few people away than to give in to killing again, so you try not to think of it too much.

Yet, other than the fact that he is a monster, Papyrus is nothing like Alphys. He should have no reason to be used to people acting that way.

“I’m sorry, dude. You don’t deserve that.”

He finishes the last of his lemonade, placing the empty cup between you and him. “it’s fine. like i said, i’m used to it. besides, it’s not like you’ve ever run away from me. i appreciate it.”

You have so many things you want to say — no, _need_ to say — in response. That he shouldn’t have to be ‘used to it’. How you not running away should just be common decency. How that woman was an idiot for looking at him and only seeing his appearance, that he is a monster. That in her mind, that was enough to act rudely against him.

However, you find yourself incapable of putting your protests into words. Instead, you quietly repeat, “You don’t deserve that.”

“i don’t want to talk ‘bout it.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce. “We still need to figure out what to do with Alphys and Undyne, though. In case you’ve forgotten, they now think we are a couple. Which we aren’t. At all.”

“right.”

“So, how do we go about this? I mean," you say, waving around the last two bites or so of your pretzel as you talk, "I’ll be seeing Alphys this weekend, but I feel like this is something we should do together.”

“you mean you want to tell them the truth?!” Papyrus sounds shocked, for some reason.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t we?”

“they seemed so happy. i don’t think i’ve seen 'dyne smile like that since we were freed. or the captain either, i guess. i don’t want to hurt them.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t _want_ to hurt them, or are _scared_ to hurt them?”

“does it matter?”

“Of course it does!” you snap. He flinches away, making you instantly regret raising your voice. Quieter, you explain, “Look. I don’t want to disappoint them either. But there’s nothing we can’t do about that. We aren’t dating.”

”but they don’t know that,” Papyrus interjects insistently. “what if we just… pretend for a little bit? let them ship us or whatever. we wouldn’t really have to do anything. then, we tell them things didn’t work out and get everything back to normal.”

“I don’t know…” In some ways, it is probably easier to do than explain that Papyrus got nervous and blurted stuff out. Technically, they are already believing a lie; you just need to convince them for a little bit longer.

But that is the problem, isn’t it? Alphys is your friend, and you have known her quite a bit longer than you have known Papyrus. You don’t want to lie to her, and consequently Undyne.

“ _please_?”

“Fine,” you sigh. “We can go along with it for a little bit. But I mean a little bit. I don’t want to keep on with this for too long.”

“mutual ‘breakup’ in a week or two?” You nod at the suggestion; that sounds perfectly reasonable. Plus, it gives the two of you enough time to figure out how to work things out with Alphys and Undyne. He wipes the sugar off his hand onto his pants before offering it to you. “deal?”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the fake dating begin!
> 
> This was originally supposed to go with last chapter, but I didn't like the flow of them together (plus I was feeling impatient and wanted to post something instead of waiting to figure this out).
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	4. A Text and a Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find a new "friend" on your doorstep.

Now, waking up to Sans hovering over him after a long needed nap is nothing new for Papyrus. Back in the Underground, it happened all the time. Usually, it would be at one of his sentry posts, and he would wake up to see Sans glowering at him, an unspoken promise for another scolding for being reckless to come once they were in private. Never actually in public; his brother couldn’t show that he cared that much about a liability.

It isn’t even the first time on the Surface that Papyrus has woken up to this, either. Usually, it happens after he has passed out on the couch for a bit and his brother wants to wake him up for supper. There were also some weirder ones, though. Like the time he found Sans staring at him, curled up on the floor in front of the fridge after a hunt for a midnight snack. Or the time right after they moved in when Papyrus had been trying to find a rag to hide the mess he made attempting to cook himself lunch, but gave up and fell asleep in a pile of laundry. That was a fun one to explain.

But, for Sans to show up in his room… just before his first alarm is supposed to go off in the morning if he had actually gotten some real sleep for once? This is new.

“GOOD MORNING,” Sans starts, much to loudly for this time of the morning. Papyrus groans, rolling over and covering his face with his pillow. “UH-UH-UH, IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP.”

“too early,” he groans tiredly.

“NONSENSE! BESIDES, I HAVE SOME _INTERESTING_ NEWS!”

“can’t it wait ‘til later?”

“NO,” Sans says flatly, using his Commander voice.

In other words, there is no way Papyrus is going back to sleep until they talk. Reluctantly, he sits up, hoping he looks tired and grumpy enough for Sans to feel bad about bugging him. He _is_ the one who keeps encouraging Papyrus to take advantage of the relative safety of the Surface to improve his health, after all. Based on how he simply continues to speak, it doesn’t work.

“AS YOU KNOW, I JUST GOT BACK FROM MY MORNING SPAR WITH ALPHYS. SHE TOLD ME THE MOST _INTERESTING_ STORY.” There he goes, using that word again, blatantly insinuating _something_. Why does Papyrus feel like he should know his brother’s meaning?

It’s too early to deal with this.

Playing along, he mumbles, “what did she say, si— _sans_?”

“I’M GLAD YOU ASKED. YOU SEE, SHE WAS TELLING ME ABOUT HER DATE LAST NIGHT WHEN SHE MENTIONED SEEING YOU THERE. _WITH YOUR HUMAN_. WHOM YOU ARE APPARENTLY DATING, NOT THAT YOU TOLD ME.”

 _Shit_! Shit, shit, _shit_! He had completely forgotten about the whole dating thing! Or the fact that Alphys would obviously talk to his brother about it! They are _allies_ , for the angel's sake! Of _course_ they would talk!

What can he do now? Sans doesn’t like it when he keeps secrets, and for good reason! Just because they are currently on the Surface and it isn’t kill or be killed anymore, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t dangerous to keep each other out of the loop. He and Sans, they aren’t just family, they are _allies_. No one gets to choose their family. But allies are built through bonds of trust! He can’t let Sans believe that he doesn’t trust him! Not when —

“MUTT!”

Papyrus snaps to attention. ~~Ready to obey his commander's orders.~~ His eye burns, magic at the ready. All he needs is the order: attack or retreat.

“STAND DOWN, PAPYRUS. STAND. DOWN.”

Stand down? That doesn’t… why is ~~his commander~~ Sans telling him to stand down? Is the threat gone? It must be.

With a deep breath, Papyrus obeys.

Then another breath. And another. And another. He is just in his room, on his bed, Sans staring at him in concern. There are no threats here. The tension in his bones, which he hadn’t even noticed until now, fades away. But he is shaking? Stars, why do his bones have to rattle like he is a babybones? He isn’t a babybones! He's not!

“I'm Sorry, Brother,” Sans soothes. He reaches a hand out towards Papyrus’ skull, an invitation. With only the slightest hint of hesitation, he moves to accept the touch, letting his brother stroke just behind his coronal suture. It helps alleviate the last remainders of his panic; Sans wouldn’t make such an obvious display of affection — of _weakness_ — if there was any danger. “I Didn’t Know How Else To Get Your Attention But To Use That Name.”

“it’s okay.” It is. It really is; he just needs to convince the rest of himself of that fact.

“If You Say So.” Sans coughs before returning to his normal register. He doesn’t, however, stop stroking Papyrus’ head, and he sure as hell isn’t going to stop him. “I’M NOT ANGRY AT YOU FOR NOT TELLING ME ABOUT YOUR DATEMATE.”

“i didn’t say you were!”

“NO, YOU DIDN’T. BUT IN CASE YOU’VE FORGOTTEN,” he says, sounding fondly exasperated, “I KNOW YOU. THAT’S WHY YOU FREAKED OUT, ISN’T IT?”

Papyrus can’t lie to his brother, but he also doesn’t need to answer. Not with words, that is.

Sans nods. “I THOUGHT SO. I _PROMISE_ , BROTHER, I’M NOT MAD. MAYBE A BIT UPSET, BUT NOT _ANGRY_. ESPECIALLY NOT AFTER HOW MUCH CONVINCING IT TOOK FOR ME TO GET YOU TO GO ON YOUR FIRST DATE.

“BESIDES,” he adds, eye lights sparkling brightly, “I’M MORE EXCITED THAN ANYTHING! MY BABY BROTHER HAS HIS FIRST CRUSH! _AND!_ IT’S WORKING OUT FOR YOU! YOU SEEM SO HAPPY THESE DAYS. YOU’VE BEEN GOING OUT MORE AND MORE, AND WALKING TOO, IF I’M NOT MISTAKEN. HOW COULD I POSSIBLY BE MAD AT YOU WHEN YOU HAVE MADE SO MUCH PROGRESS?”

How is Papyrus supposed to react now? Alphys and Undyne are one thing; considering they were the ones to set you and him up in the first place, it would be more surprising — if not concerning — if they _didn’t_ ship it. Sans is supposed to be the one who resists all this. The one who warns him about the risks involved in dating. _Especially_ if the person he is dating is a human. He would know, after all; Sans is the one who works with the humans all day.

But Sans is apparently supportive of a non existent relationship and Papyrus doesn’t know what to do.

“SO, WHEN DO I GET TO MEET YOUR DATEMATE? NOW THAT I KNOW ABOUT THEM, IT’S ONLY NATURAL THAT WE SHOULD MEET.”

“uhhh…” Is there any way he can convince him not to meet you?

“SILLY ME, YOU WILL NEED TO TALK WITH THEM, OF COURSE. JUST MAKE SURE YOU REMIND ME IN ADVANCE SO I CAN MAKE A PROPER FIRST IMPRESSION.”

“got it.”

“GOOD.” Sans stands up, giving his skull one last rub before heading to the door. “NOW, GET UP. I NEED TO GO TO WORK SOON, AND I DON’T WANT YOU TO BE LAZING ABOUT ALL DAY.”

“got it.” Papyrus waits for Sans to slam the front door shut before reaching for his phone.

 **rus:** so…

 **rus:** we might have a small problem

 

* * *

 

You have a small problem: you made the decision to go grocery shopping while hungry. Again. And that, of course, means you have been making impulsive decisions. Will you want this box of limited edition high fibre cereal later? Probably not. Are you still buying it because your stomach says you want it? Absolutely.

To make matters worse, you currently don’t have access to your shopping list, thanks to the fact that your phone has been out of battery for the past several hours. As it turns out, your charger, held together only by sheer hope and copious amounts of duct tape, finally died after a long and difficult life. Naturally, you didn’t notice this last night, but only this morning when your battery life was practically nil. As in, you didn’t even make it to work before your phone died.

Thankfully, you _do_ remember to grab a new charger before heading to the checkout. Barely. Still, you remember it, and that is the important part.

Juggling far too many grocery bags, you stop in the middle of the sidewalk when you notice an unfamiliar figure standing on your front step. Cautiously, you keep walking, considering which of your grocery bags could cause the most bodily damage without destroying the food inside. So far, the spontaneous ice cream purchase seems like the best choice. You would like to be prepared, just in case this person is sketchy.

Now that you are closer, you are even more confused. The figure is a skeleton monster, significantly shorter than Papyrus. Sharply dressed in a dark suit, they smile at you. “HELLO. YOU WOULDN’T HAPPEN TO BE MY BROTHER’S DATEMATE, ARE YOU?”

Oh no.

Warily, you answer, “Depends. Are you Sans?”

“YES, I AM. I APOLOGISE FOR NOT PROPERLY INTRODUCING MYSELF. I TAKE IT THAT IT _IS_ A YES, THEN?”

No… but pretty much all you know about Sans — aside from the fact that he and Papyrus are brothers — is that he and Alphys are friends or coworkers or something. So…

“Sure.”

“EXCELLENT! IT WOULD BE RATHER INCONVENIENT IF I HAD THE WRONG PERSON. NOW…” His voice trails off as you fumble for your keys. “WHERE ARE MY MANNERS? LET ME HELP YOU WITH YOUR GROCERIES.” Before you can even process what he said, he takes most of your bags off of your hands. Well then.

Once you unlock the door, he strides inside. You follow behind, not sure what to make of this.

_How does he know where you live?_

“NOW,” he says, straightening his tie after he places your bags on the floor. The deep red, almost burgundy silk is an exact match to his wide eye lights. “I WAS HOPING TO GET TO KNOW YOU A BIT BEFORE HAVING DINNER WITH YOU AND MY BROTHER.”

“Okay?” This is news to you, of course, but what can you do? The… request(?) doesn’t seem very unreasonable. “Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Mil—”

“TEA WOULD BE FINE,” he responds, brusquely cutting you off. Wordlessly, you gesture towards the kitchen, bringing some of the grocery bags along with you. Even if you weren’t expecting company, you can still be a decent host.

Sans sits down at the table, allowing you to quickly shove your frozen food in the freezer before it melts. Everything else should be able to wait a bit, but you refuse to lose your ice cream again because you forget about it until it becomes sad, sweet creamy soup. Silence occupies the room while you get the tea ready, other than the sound of water refilling your kettle. And then, the soft pattering of four tiny paws entering the kitchen.

“WHAT IS THIS?!”

Confused, you turn around. “What’s what?”

“THIS!” Sans snaps at you, pointing down past the table. Curiously, you bend down to see an all too familiar Ragdoll cat rubbing his face against Sans’ legs, leaving a trail of white and grey fur behind on the dark silken pants. You can hear him purring from here.

“Erwin,” you scold, “leave the nice monster alone.” To Sans, “Sorry about him. That’s my roommate’s cat.”

“WHO NAMES THEIR CAT ERWIN?”

“Hey, Erwin was the better choice. Originally, Miyako wanted to name him Fish.” You decide to omit the fact that the little rascal’s full name is technically Erwin Schrödinger, or the fact that she originally wanted a pet bird named Florence Nightingale. Although, you should probably remember to tell Papyrus that one day; you are sure he would appreciate her sense of humour.

Seeing you near the cupboards, Erwin pads over to you, meowing pleadingly. “Sorry Win-win, but you can’t trick me with those baby blues. I know that Miya fed you before she left for work, so don’t even bother. Now, shoo.” Erwin meows once more, but ultimately listens to you, hopefully heading towards your roommate’s bedroom instead of your own.

With that taken care of, you get to work on setting the table. Humming under your breath, you grab a pair of spoons in one hand and the sugar container with the other. If Sans is anything like his brother, it will be well used.

After taking a discreet sniff of your milk to double check that it is still good, you decide to try some small talk. “So, I hear that you're also friends with Alphys. Small world, huh?"

"I SUPPOSE YOU COULD SAY THAT," Sans says lightly. "ALTHOUGH, I WOULD ARGUE AS A MONSTER, IT IS GETTING LARGER DAY BY DAY. WHAT I WANT TO KNOW, THOUGH, IS WHY I HADN’T HEARD ABOUT YOU UNTIL NOW. IT'S STRANGE THAT MY BROTHER DIDN’T SHARE THE NEWS ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH ME." His tone is merely curious, you think, but you feel like you know better than that. There is far too much implication present for you to miss.

Quickly, you turn to grab some mugs. Maybe if he can’t see your face, it will be harder for him to tell that you are pulling this next bit out your ass. “Well, you know how it is. Me and Papyrus are, uh, wanting to take things slow. Better to not make a big deal, just in case things didn’t work out.”

“I SEE.”

“Yeah.” The tea kettle clicks, done boiling. Mugs still in hand, you go to fill them. Suddenly, it occurs to you that you haven’t asked your guest what kind of tea he would like. You lackadaisically drop a tea bag into your own cup before turning around —

— only to freeze, the words dying off your lips. A glowing red bone, sharper than any of the knives in the kitchen, sits a hair's breadth from your throat.

“HUMAN,” Sans growls lowly, so close to you, too close, how on earth did he get all the way across the room without you noticing?!  You had your back turned for only a few seconds, and he somehow had to get out of the chair without making a peep. “ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH HOW COURTSHIP WORKED IN THE UNDERGROUND?”

No, and you have a funny feeling you really, _really_ don’t want to know. Miraculously, you manage to find the strength to shake your head, ever so slightly. The movement allows you to feel the magic thrumming from Sans’ weapon, harsh and cold.

“NO? WELL, LET ME ENLIGHTEN YOU, HUMAN.” His grin shifts, and he tilts his face in a way that causes the deep, jagged scar passing through his eye socket to stand out against the ruby glow of that bone held too close to your skin. “TRADITIONALLY, YOU WOULD HAVE TO PROVE  YOURSELF IN BATTLE.” _Oh god, help._ “I S N ‘ T    T H A T   I N T E R E S T I N G ?”

Your voice catches in your throat. You can’t even manage a scared squeak. Nodding is out of the question.

Not that it matters.

Just as quickly as he cornered you, Sans dissipates his weapon. His demeanor changes completely, leaving behind a skeleton who is smiling almost sweetly, hands clasped behind his back. With a brightness that can only be described as chipper, he asks, “AREN’T YOU GLAD THAT THINGS ARE DIFFERENT ON THE SURFACE?”

"Y-yes." _Help!!!_

“HERE, LET ME HELP YOU.” Sans chooses what tea he wants, holds the cup out for you to fill and returns to the table. Heart still beating in your throat, you trail behind him.

And to think you were concerned about dealing with Alphys and Undyne.

Sans takes a sip of tea, not even bothering to let it cool. “TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF.” He sounds nice, just like before when he was helping you with your groceries. However, you refuse to forget the sharp, red blade, threatening to slice through layers of skin.

"What… what would you like to know?"

The ~~interrogation~~ ~~interview~~ _talk_ goes surprisingly well at first. The questions are pretty standard, you think: what do you do for work, what are some of your hobbies, etc. If anything, the strangest question happens halfway through, when he asks for your name.

_How did he find you if he didn't even know that piece of information?_

Roughly the same time that you reheat the kettle to make some refills, Sans' line of questioning shifts.

Now, if you were a smarter person, or maybe just the slightest bit scared of monsters, you would probably start to feel nervous when Sans crosses his arms, leaning close into your space with cold, glaring eye lights. If you were a smarter person or scared of monsters, you would take this time to remember that Sans was Alphys' second in command, and probably with reason. If you were a smarter person or scared of monsters, you would remember that the average citizen of the Underground has killed more than one person in their lifetime, and that Sans has threatened you already.

Sadly, you cannot lay claim to being either of these things.

"TELL ME: WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOUR INTENTIONS WITH MY BROTHER?"

Carefully, you set down your cup. "Um…" What are you supposed to say here? You doubt the truthful response that you don't have any intentions with Papyrus is the correct one here.

"NOW, NOW, HUMAN. THIS ISN'T A HARD QUESTION. WHAT. ARE. YOUR. INTENTIONS?"

"Well, I, uh…”

Sans cuts you off mid hesitation, leaning across the table. “SAVE IT. I NEED YOU TO LISTEN HERE, HUMAN. PAPYRUS HAS BEEN HAPPY LATELY. _MUCH_ HAPPIER THAN HE HAS BEEN IN YEARS. AS HIS OLDER BROTHER, IT IS _MY_ RESPONSIBILITY TO MAKE SURE HE STAYS THAT WAY. HOWEVER, I WILL NOT ALLOW HIS HAPPINESS TO INTERFERE WITH HIS SAFETY. I HAVE DUSTED MONSTERS FOR LESS, AND DON’T YOU EVEN _DARE_ THINK THAT I’LL LET ANYTHING GET IN MY WAY.

“I’VE GOT MY EYES ON YOU, HUMAN, AND MY EYES HAVE EYES. SHOULD I FIND OUT THAT YOU ARE DOING ANYTHING TO PUT MY BROTHER AT RISK…” Sans draws a single, scarred finger across his neck, the angle reminiscent of just a few minutes ago. “ALSO, AS THE AMBASSADOR OF MONSTERKIND, I HAVE THE DISTINCT PRIVILEGE OF DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY, IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT.”

You gulp. “Consider your drift caught.”

Before you can figure out if you should be tacking on a ‘sir’ or something to your statement, Sans sits back down. “EXCELLENT!” He smiles at you, finishing the last of his tea, which has probably gone cold by now.

However, you are not going to prolong his time in your house by offering to warm it up.

Not now.

“THANK YOU FOR THE TEA. I WILL BE SEEING YOU TOMORROW NIGHT FOR DINNER. IF YOU HAVE ANY DIETARY RESTRICTIONS, PLEASE CONTACT ME WITH THIS NUMBER,” he says as he pushes in his chair, taking a business card from his jacket pocket with the embassy insignia on it, “BEFORE 14:00 TOMORROW. IT WOULD BE _SO_ INCONVENIENT IF I WERE TO ACCIDENTALLY PUT MY BABY BROTHER’S DATEMATE INTO ANAPHYLACTIC SHOCK.”

“O-okay?”

_Is that a threat? Because that sounds kind of like a threat, and you have already capped out your yearly threat quota today, thanks._

“PERFECT. I WILL SEE YOU THEN. HAVE A NICE DAY.” With that, he marches straight out of your house, not even waiting for you to get up from your own chair.

Tension rendering your body completely rigid, you sit alone, trying to let what just happened process. This sure wasn’t what you were expecting when you got back home. Heck, this wasn’t what you were expecting when you agreed to pretend to date Papyrus for a bit.

_Papyrus!_

Does he have any idea about this? If not, you sure as hell should update him. Because when you and him inevitably "break up", you would really like him to keep Sans off your back. Or away from your neck. Or however the shorter skeleton will choose to cause you harm.

The point is, you need to make a new plan. Stat.

As fast as you can, you dig into one of the remaining grocery bags and tear open the package to your new charger. Anxiously tapping your fingers on the linoleum of your counter, you wait for your phone to turn on.

Needless to say, you soon figure out your "boyfriend's" knowledge about your visitor, two texts from this morning appearing on your screen. With a pained grin, you type your response.

 **You:** Yeah

 **You:** I know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans: YES, I AM ABSOLUTELY THRILLED MY BROTHER HAS A DATEMATE
> 
> Also Sans: HMM, I SHOULD GO CREEP AROUND AND GIVE MY BROTHER'S DATEMATE A GOOD SHOVEL TALK. THAT SOUNDS LIKE A WONDERFUL IDEA!
> 
> You ever had an idea that just goes out of control? Yeah, that was this chapter in a nutshell.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	5. A Supper and a Scare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hope that you won't die when you go to supper with Sans and Papyrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a birthday gift from me to you!

First thing in the morning, you end up calling in sick to work. _Technically_ , you aren’t really lying; your stomach has been churning since last night at the prospects of supper with Sans and Papyrus.

The sick feeling has only grown since Papyrus called you bright and early, asking you out on a “date” to his house and if you were okay with meeting his brother. From his wording, you had safely assumed that Sans was listening in. Your hunch was proved correct a few minutes after “accepting” his offer. He texted, informing you that Sans had been pleading with him to “meet” you. That his schedule was _oh so conveniently_ empty today, so if Papyrus could manage to arrange a date, it would mean that he would have sufficient time to cook and clean the house.

Speaking of your texts with Papyrus, none of them were really reassuring, either. Sure, he said that Sans _probably_ won’t kill you, but “probably won’t” isn’t the same as “absolutely won’t”, and you would prefer to be one hundred percent certain that you will leave their house tonight completely intact, thanks.

No wonder you barely got any sleep.

With less than an hour until your potential demise your dinner at Papyrus’ house, you decide to reread some of his messages about this fiasco. Maybe, there will be something crucial to your (literal) survival.

 **rus:** shoot

 **rus:** i was hoping he wouldn’t do that

 **You:** You KNEW he’d do this?

 **rus:** i mean, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **rus:** he’s like that, u know?

 **You:** What do we do?

 **rus:** pretend it didn’t happen

 **You:** I’M NOT PRETENDING THAT HE DIDN’T THREATEN TO KILL ME DUDE!

 **rus:** look. i know my bro

 **rus:** i can’t mention it cuz as long as he thinks i don’t know, i can predict how he’ll act

 **rus:** it’s easier to defeat an opponent when u can predict their next move

 **You:** …

 **You:** Fine. I won’t mention it if you think it’ll help

 **You:** But next time, let's NOT word it like I'm going to fight your brother

 **You:** I don't feel like dying, thanks

 **rus:** deal

From there on, you are confidently able to recite the rest of his advice. Respect Sans' authority, but still stand your ground. Be polite; ticking Sans off is a bad idea at the best of times, let alone when he has already shown displeasure against you. Showing a healthy amount of fear is okay, but Sans hates a coward. And above all, don't try to hide things. Papyrus has watched his brother interrogate monsters back Underground, and he can sniff out any blood in the water.

Yeah…

That doesn't really inspire confidence right now.

Around lunch, you had tried texting Alphys for some more advice, hoping with all your heart that she wouldn't relay your messages to Sans. It didn't do much good, though. When you told her you would be meeting Papyrus' brother, she just told you that he is "fun" and that you should "get along great".

You very much disagree with that assessment.

In any case, there is nothing you can really do now but wish for the best.

You gaze critically at your reflection in the mirror. Already dressed in a set of your nice clothes, you have a lint roller at the ready to remove any traces of Erwin’s fur. Part of you wonders if you should choose something even dressier to wear; the dude had shown up to your house in a freaking suit, after all. Then again, that was probably only because he went straight from the embassy to your house, but still. You have an impression to make, even if it is only a second one.

Short of an extremely last minute trip to a hairdresser, your hair is as good as it is going to get. You make a quick trip to the bathroom to brush your teeth. And to floss them. While you are at it, you grab the mouthwash.

Is it weird that you are putting more effort into this than you did with your blind date with Papyrus? Maybe. In your defense, this _is_ very similar to your pre job interview routine. In some ways, that isn't too far off; this is basically part two of Sans interviewing you to determine whether or not you are suitable as Papyrus' "datemate".

"Well," you tell your reflection, "nice knowing you."

 

* * *

 

From the moment you enter the monster district, you are on guard. Well, _technically_ you have been on guard for quite a bit longer, but whatever. In all your time of knowing Alphys, you have never made it over here before. She said you weren't ready. You never questioned her; at the time, you thought it was a bit of a joke, making fun of you for being weaker than her. But now… now you wonder.

Walking down Papyrus' street, a chill runs down your spine as you clue in to all the eyes following your every move. Hungry. Humans are probably not a common sight around here.

You walk a bit faster.

Relief floods through you when you see a familiar face slouching against the railing of the front porch of your destination. Papyrus nods at you, acknowledging your presence, and you rush forward to meet him.

“hey,” he says, drawing you into a tight hug, and okay, that is a thing now. Oh boy. You try to reciprocate, but struggle to reach up high enough with his arms wrapping around you. So quiet that you can barely hear him, he explains, “sans is peeking through the window.” You take his word for it; you can’t really see anything but the dark fabric of his hoodie.

Well, you guess this helps with the cover story. And it is _just_ a hug; friends can platonically hug each other without it being a big deal.

Even if they normally don’t last this long.

…

…

…

Okay, this is starting to feel a bit overkill, even if you _are_ trying to make it look like a mild form of PDA.

“Papyrus?” you ask, voice partially muffled.

“yeah?”

“Do you think you could let go now? I’m starting to lose circulation in my arms.”

“huh? oh right! sorry.” He scuttles away sheepishly, giving you a bit of breathing room.

“Thanks.”

“you ready?”

No point in lying about this one. “Not really.”

“it’s gonna be okay,” he insists. You believe him. Mostly.

The thing is, your interactions with Sans so far have done nothing but demonstrate the public perception of monsterkind: cold, violent, ready to kill at any time. And as the ambassador, there is the expectation for him to represent monsters as a whole. You have been told that the former inhabitants of the Underground are too evil to live up to the monsters of fairy tales. Their queen has admitted to murdering humans, many of which were _children_. It is common knowledge that killing was well ingrained into monster culture, to the point that you have heard some refer to murder as their national sport. And if the act of taking another person’s life was considered normal, who knows what other crimes they turned a blind eye to?

You still hold on to hope, though. After all, monsters can’t have been _that_ bad if a single human kid was able to convince them to reform. Right?

You really hope so. For your own sake.

Papyrus grabs your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. You tilt your head up at him. “Do I really look that nervous?”

“kinda. but we also gotta be convincing.” He gently swings your arm back and forth. “thought this might help.”

“Dude, I think the hug was convincing enough.”

“so you’re saying i should let go.”

“Heck no.” The expression Papyrus gives you is _very_ perplexed. The only way he could look more confused is if actual question marks were to appear around his head. With a small smile, you explain, “I’m relying on you to make sure I don’t chicken out and bolt. _This_ ,” you say, lightly shaking your joined hands, “should stop me from being an idiot and running off.”

“wait.” Oh, you recognise that mischievous grin. “are you telling me that all it takes is a lil handholdin’ to stop you from being an idiot? good to know.”

You resist the urge to shove him. Barely. “Oh, shut up!”

The grin shifts to a cocky smirk. “make me.”

“ _AHEM_.”

You and Papyrus whip your heads forward. Leaning against the door, Sans watches the two of you with an amused smirk. _How long has he been standing there?_

"BROTHER, HOW ABOUT YOU STOP GIVING THE NEIGHBOURHOOD A SHOW AND GET INSIDE BEFORE THE FOOD GETS COLD.”

"right." He lets go of your hand to gesture to the door. “after you.”

“Thanks.” You enter the house, knowing that Sans is watching your every move from the doorway. Papyrus is right at your heels, his looming presence surprisingly comforting. The door is shut firmly — not quite a slam, but close — by Sans.

“SO,” the shorter and more intimidating of the brothers starts, “AREN’T YOU GOING TO INTRODUCE ME TO YOUR DATEMATE?”

“sure.” Papyrus gestures as he says, “datemate, bro. bro, datemate.”

“ _PAPYRUS_ ,” Sans warns.

“fine, fine.” This time, he introduces you properly. “happy?”

“AM I EVER?” That is a seriously good question, even though you know he is being rhetorical. Sans offers a hand to you. “IT IS NICE TO MEET YOU.”

You accept the shake, only wincing slightly as those sharpened fingertips dig into the back of your hand. You decide to interpret that as a warning. “You too.”

“is the food ready?” Papyrus asks, a bit too loudly. Did he notice what his brother just did?

“YES.” Sans releases your hand, much to your relief. You rub at the painful marks his claws left behind. “FOLLOW ME.”

‘sorry,’ Papyrus mouths behind his brother’s back. With a small shrug, you mouth back, ‘what can you do'.

Your heart drops to your stomach by the time the three of you enter the dining room. Part of you was expecting supper to be some kind of trap, but this certainly wasn’t it.

Before you sits a spread you would expect at a five star restaurant. Candles, expensive looking china, multiple kinds of spoons, forks and knives… and are those finger bowls? You are _not_ ready for this.

“I KNOW IT ISN’T MUCH,” Sans says, like a liar, “BUT HERE IT IS. PLEASE, SIT DOWN.”

You obey, glancing helplessly between Papyrus, your salad and the series of forks surrounding your plate. He simply shrugs and grabs one from the middle. You are pretty sure that is wrong, though. Sneaking a peek at Sans doesn’t provide you with any clues; he is passively watching you with those sharp red eye lights of his.

“IS SOMETHING WRONG?” Man, you hate his smug tone.

“No,” you grit out, “I’m just appreciating the presentation.” Your hand hovers over the leftmost fork, trying to see if Sans reacts. Nothing. With an internal sigh, you grab it. Something shifts in his expression, but you can’t tell whether it is good or bad. In any case, it is gone just as soon as you see it. Really, you might have been imagining things.

“hey sans, how was work today?”

“HER MAJESTY AND I HAD A MEETING WITH VARIOUS REPRESENTANTS FROM THE UNITED NATIONS.”

One excruciatingly long monologue later, you figure out what Papyrus just did. As boring as it was to listen about Sans’ involvement in diplomatic relations, the most you had to contribute to the conversation (if you could call it that) was the odd hum until three quarters of the way through dessert. Neither you or Papyrus have needed to say a word about your “relationship”. Plus, Sans seems content talking about his work, which is good.

Maybe this will go better than expected.

“BUT THAT’S ENOUGH ABOUT ME.” Or maybe not. “WHAT HAVE YOU TWO BEEN UP TO DURING YOUR CLANDESTINE OUTINGS?”

You choke on your drink while Papyrus splutters, “w-what?!”

“PLEASE. YOU HAVE BEEN MEETING IN SECRET FOR WEEKS NOW. ALPHYS EVEN SAID SHE HAD ALMOST CAUGHT YOU CANOODLING IN THE PARK, BY THE EXILED KING’S BEARD!” Papyrus’ cheeks glow a furious red, and you are sure that yours match. “I’M CURIOUS.”

“Well…”

When Sans’ phone rings, you could cry from relief. “EXCUSE ME A MOMENT.” He gets to his feet, walking briskly across the room. “GOOD EVENING, YOUR MAJESTY. HOW CAN I BE OF SERVICE?”

“thank the stars,” Papyrus exhales. Somehow, he manages to slouch back even more in his seat than he already was. In fact, you are almost eye to eye with him, which is a first.

“You can say that again.”

“thank the stars.” You decide to ignore that. You have more important things to discuss than someone’s dad jokes.

Instead, you set down your fork and wipe your mouth with your napkin. “Thanks for distracting Sans. I wouldn’t have even thought of trying that.”

“no problem. i kinda have several years of experience in the whole ‘distracting sans from things i don’t want him to talk about’ thing.” Papyrus taps his cheekbone thoughtfully with his fork. A patch of crumbs and whipped cream is left behind. “for what it counts, i don’t think he hates you.”

“Okay?”

“trust me. he hasn’t been nearly passive aggressive enough if he hated you but was pretending not to for my sake. hell, if he _really_ didn’t like you, he wouldn’t’ve spent so much time bragging about himself. or if he did, he would spend more time talking about his accomplishments with the guard instead of which important humans he’s met. right now, if i had to guess, sans only mildly dislikes you. and for him, that’s pretty great.”

“If you say so…” In that case, you don’t want to know what he is like when he _actually_ hates someone. _Note to self: try to stay on his better side._ In fact, you glance around at the dishes scattered around the table. “Do you think we should clean these up?”

“probably,” Papyrus agrees with a dismayed sigh.

The two of you start stacking dishes, you more neatly than him. Seriously. Your high school understanding of gravity is getting put to the test as you try to figure out how he is shoving everything on top of each other without a single utensil clattering to the floor. Through the wall, you can hear small snippets of Sans’ phone conversation, although none of the words are really distinct. Papyrus, arms full of dishes, leads you to the kitchen, kicking open the door to let you through.

“Just so you know,” you say, carefully rinsing the first plate before placing it into the sink, “if this whole thing works out and Sans expects me to visit, I’m officially stealing your guys’ blender.” Like all the appliances you have seen, it looks shiny and new and completely functional.

Papyrus passes you another plate. “don’t you have one?”

“Depends.”

“depends?” His quizzical head tilt makes you fight back a snort.

“Does it count if it hasn’t actually worked in over a year and sounds like it might catch on fire at any given moment?”

“i dunno. do i _look_ like i’m a responsible adult who uses a blender?” Okay, valid point. “also, why haven’t you gotten a new one yet?”

“You know? That’s a good question.” You should talk to your roommate about that. Although, chances are, even if the two of you _do_ end up getting a new blender, you will still be borrowing this one.

“WHAT IS THIS I HEARD ABOUT YOU PLANNING TO COMMIT PETTY THEFT?”

You jump at the sudden question, nearly shattering a glass in the sink. How does he keep sneaking behind you like that? You didn’t even hear the door! Sans taps his foot, arms crossed. Now, you are _really_ starting to doubt Papyrus' assessment of his brother's opinion of you. If he didn't hate you then, he probably does now that he thinks you are wanting to steal his things.

You need to fix this before… well, you aren't sure what Sans will do, but you still need to fix it.

Before you can, though, Sans takes one good look at you, throws his head back and laughs. "BROTHER, IT SEEMS YOUR DATEMATE NEEDS TO GROW A SENSE OF HUMOUR ALONG WITH A SPINE. THEY LOOK LIKE A GYFTROT CAUGHT IN THE HANGING LIGHTS! YOU'LL WANT TO WORK ON THAT."

"not their fault you're an ass who finds scaring other people funny,” Papyrus mutters, mostly under his breath but loud enough for you and Sans to hear. Louder, “it’s gettin’ late. do you have work tomorrow?”

You cling on to that segue like a life preserver. “Yeah, I’m actually opening up.”

“so you should get going, huh?”

“ _Yes_!” You clear your throat awkwardly, realising that was a bit too intense. “I mean, yes, I should. Good night’s sleep, and all that. Yeah.”

“THEN I’M SURE MY BROTHER CAN SHOW YOU THE DOOR. GOODBYE.”

“Bye,” you say, already hightailing it out of there. Papyrus is ahead of you.

“OH,” Sans adds, glancing over his shoulder just before you fully exit the kitchen. “I SHOULD CONGRATULATE YOU, HUMAN. YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY PASSED MY FIRST TEST.”

Thoughtlessly, you respond, “Thanks.” Your priorities are solely on getting home, and getting home to safety as fast as physically possible.

The implications behind his last sentence don’t click in until you unlock your front door.

What did he freaking mean, “ _first_ test”?!?!?!?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter's title is a lie: there are multiple scares. But I started this chapter naming format and I'm going to stick with it, gosh darn it.
> 
> Sans weird intimidation technique #1: make a fancy dinner so that your guest is unsure which spoon to use at what time.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	6. A Test and a Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans puts you through his second test, with you none the wiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My word, did this thing ever end up longer than I expected! I hope you guys enjoy it!

The second test happens sooner than you could have ever expected.

Being assigned to wipe down duty at work is nothing new. Instruments tend to sell better when they look all sleek and shiny, plus it helps deal with all the grossness of random hands touching them all day. Usually, you don’t mind _too_ much; it doesn’t require much thinking, which means you can daydream for a bit and after a certain point, it can be relaxing.

But today, cleaning _all_ the keyboards? Not so much.

Returning from your lunch break only to have Colin thrust a cleaning rag into your hands, informing you that some parents let their jam-covered kid run around unsupervised before ditching for a smoke break? Not fun. Especially since it looks like your coworker just let the stickiness sit there and dry for at least ten minutes before giving the job to you.

Yeah, needless to say, Colin isn’t that high up on your list of favourite people right now.

“GOOD DAY, HUMAN. I WAS WONDERING IF I COULD SPEAK WITH YOU FOR A MOMENT?”

Speaking of not being high on your list of favourite people right now.

Warily, you turn around. You don’t think he will try something here, but you never know. He _did_ find out where you live, somehow. Plus, his one threat/warning still looms in your mind.

_‘As the ambassador of monsterkind, I have the distinct privilege of diplomatic immunity, if you catch my drift.’_

Smiling through your nervousness, you push back the lump in your throat to ask, “How can I help you, sir?”

“OH! HELLO THERE. I WAS NOT AWARE THAT YOU WORKED HERE. WHAT A _WONDERFUL_ COINCIDENCE.”

”Uh huh.” _Sure it is._ Setting your cloth aside, you try to discreetly look for the nearest security camera. You can’t find one. “What do you want, Sans?”

“I SEE YOU DON’T WANT TO WASTE ANY TIME IN GETTING TO BUSINESS. HOW COMMENDABLE. SO MANY OF THE HUMANS THAT I WORK WITH, IF YOU DON’T MIND ME SAYING, WASTE VALUABLE TIME WITH UNNECESSARY PLEASANTRIES.” He pulls out a garishly coloured poster from behind his back. "NEXT MONTH, NAPSTATON WILL BE HOLDING A BENEFIT CONCERT. AS A REPRESENTANT OF THE MONSTER EMBASSY, I'VE BEEN SETTING UP POSTERS AROUND TOWN, AS SUCH AN EVENT WOULD BE EXCELLENT FOR UNIFYING THE HUMAN-MONSTER COMMUNITY. WITH THIS BEING A MUSIC STORE, I THOUGHT IT WOULD MAKE SENSE TO INQUIRE AS TO IF I CAN PUT ONE UP HERE."

You gesture to the poster. "May I?"

"OF COURSE," he responds smoothly, handing it over.

Nothing on the poster looks suspicious. Everything matches up with what Sans said. The charity is a local one you know specialises in rehabilitation efforts, mostly for former inmates. That, however, isn’t why you are familiar with them. For a good deal of time after reaching the Surface, monsters had been their primary clientele, understandably enough. Napstaton will be the main performer, but other local musicians will be featured, it seems. There are even some restaurants — human and monster — listed as donating up to fifty percent of their profits for the day. All in all, the event looks like it will make quite a difference in the community, and the more people who can find out about it, the better.

In other words, there is no good reason for you to object to putting up the poster.

You place it on the piano’s music stand for now. “Yeah, I’ll get this up as soon as I can.”

“WONDERFUL! NOW, AS TO MY NEXT ORDER OF BUSINESS, I HAVE A PROPOSITION FOR YOU.”

Sadly, you doubt it will have to do anything with musical instruments. Still… “I’m listening,” you say, resisting the urge to cross your arms defiantly. You don’t care what the ambassador would think about it, but the last thing you need on top of everything is a reprimand from Brenda, your supervisor, for interacting rudely with a customer.

Sans reaches a hand into the jacket of his suit — and okay, admittedly, that was a pretty slick move, just like something out of a spy movie — and whips out two identical slips of paper with a flourish. “I RECENTLY CAME INTO THE POSSESSION OF THESE TICKETS FOR THAT TRAVELING AMUSEMENT PARK. I PERSONALLY HAVE NO USE FOR THEM, AND I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO PUT THEM TO GOOD USE WITH MY BROTHER.”

Of course. He holds the tickets expectantly, waving them at you. You don’t grab them. Not yet.

“What’s the catch?”

“NO CATCH,” he says (like a liar? maybe? it’s hard to tell) with a syrupy sweet smile. “ALL I WANT IS FOR PAPYRUS AND HIS DATEMATE TO BE HAPPY.”

“Uh huh.”

Neither of you say anything for a few seconds, merely standing each other down with Frank Sinatra crooning in the background. Brenda —in typical Brenda fashion — had selected the oldies radio station earlier today. Again. Needless to say, her choice diminishes the intensity of the moment.

The thing is, even as much as you are being resistant, a part of you wants to accept. His offer seems decent enough. Plus, amusement parks aren’t exactly sinister — unless you were to include the prices, which are mostly dealt with if he is just giving you the tickets freely as he claims.

His reasoning also seems honest, which only pushes you towards giving in. You personally don’t really see amusement parks as being Sans’ thing. Not unless he felt like griping at the underpaid workers who run the rides, and you doubt he has the time for that.

Maybe he _is_ just being altruistic, even though you have not yet know that to be true. Maybe it was merely a coincidence that he showed up to drop off the poster while you were on shift. Sure, it is a bit of a stretch, but whatever. Life can be weird like that sometimes.

Besides, what could go wrong?

“Thanks,” you say, taking the tickets and shoving them into your pocket.

Sans gives you a smug grin. "OH, ANYTIME. HAVE A NICE DAY. AND DON'T FORGET TO HANG UP THAT POSTER FOR ME." He turns and saunters out of sight.

"Well then," you mutter to no one in particular. Quickly, you finish off wiping down this piano before heading over to the bulletin board. Clearly, things could have gone far worse with your encounter with Sans than him just giving you a poster and amusement park tickets.

It doesn’t even occur to you that this could be part two to the previous test.

For the rest of your shift, you are on the lookout for when Papyrus comes. It is an easy thing to do, considering how destickifying the keyboards gives you easy viewing access to the rest of the store. So easy, in fact, that you are able to drop what you are doing and meet him the second he walks through the door.

“Hello, welcome to No Strings Attached. Can I help you?”

“uhhhhhhhhhhh…”

“Of course,” you say, shuffling him off to a corner where the two of you are unlikely to be overheard, despite his obvious confusion. “Just this way.” Lowering your voice, you explain, “We need to talk.” Preferable, without you getting in trouble for not doing your job.

“‘kay?”

“Sans was here.”

“in the maraca section?”

“Yes! Wait, no. Just in the store.”

“oh. did he buy something?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing. “No, Papyrus, he didn’t. Work with me here, dude.”

“hey,” he protests halfheartedly, “you never know. what was he doing here, then?” His eye lights dim slightly, a dark look coming across his face. “he didn’t threaten you, did he?”

“No. He gave me these, though.” You show him the tickets. “I would feel bad about wasting them. Plus, I think he honestly expects us to go. What should we do?”

Papyrus leans against the shelf, arms crossed. You have to force down the impulse to cringe. You trust him not to wreck anything — or at least to pay for whatever he does — but still. Retail instincts. “i dunno. what’re you thinking?”

“I think…” What do you think?

You think you would really like it if Sans could keep his nose out of your business. Nose? Nose hole? Nasal cavity? On a side note, one of these days, you _really_ need to brush up on your skeletal anatomy. But to get back to the point, you doubt that is going to happen anytime soon. Heck, you would even settle for the guy to stop stalking you at work. Unfortunately, you can’t put that past him, even if Papyrus were to intervene.

And as to your thoughts about the amusement park?

You think that Sans will be disappointed if you don’t go. Maybe even more than disappointed. He _expects_ you to take Papyrus out for a good time. Letting him down doesn’t seem like an option. Short of having Papyrus pretend to go with you, all that would earn you is another visit from the shorter skeleton, but with more scary interrogation. You would like to avoid that, thanks.

You can only see one true option, then.

“I think… we should do it. After all, there’s no reason we can’t just go to an amusement park as friends, right?”

Papyrus nods. “right. he gets to think we’re being cheesy and romantic or whatever, and we can just go have fun. maybe we can take a picture or something to be convincing? get him off our backs for a while.” He pauses, absently flicking a cheap plastic maraca through its packaging. “humans do that with their datemates, right?”

You smile slightly at his question. “Yeah. Yeah, we can work with that. And that leaves us to eat some overpriced junk food and go on some rides for the rest of the night.”

“i think we can suffer through that. so, what’s the plan?”

You take a quick glance at your phone for the time. “Okay. I’m done in a few minutes, and the park’s open for a few more hours. I’ll want to go home and change into something more comfortable. You should probably go home and let your brother know that we’re going out. From there, we can text to figure out a precise time to meet up.”

“sounds good.” Brenda walks by, and you prepare yourself for the disappointed glare for not being productive. Papyrus must notice something in your expression, as he gives you a slight thumbs up out of her viewing range. “thanks for showing me these,” he says much louder than his normal voice, ensuring that she hears, “but i think i changed my mind. maybe next time. but i’m also lookin’ for that instrument in that one jurassic park video, right? you know the one.” And in case you didn’t, he does a horrendous and frankly painful imitation of a melodica playing the movie’s theme. Brenda simply gives a curt nod before making her escape.

You don’t blame her.

A few hours later, you find yourself waiting in line for cotton candy with Papyrus providing a convenient shadow from the still-blazing sun. You might regret starting off by filling up on everything, but you are hungry, dang it; you didn’t get a chance for supper before leaving. All this means, though, is that you should probably make your way up to the rides, starting with any games and non-nausea inducing things like bumper cars. Man, do you ever want to see Papyrus try to squeeze himself into a bumper car. Just. Gangly, boney limbs sticking out awkwardly as he hunches over the steering wheel, driving around. You can't wait.

Despite your anticipation, you can't help but feel uneasy. Something is wrong, not that you can explain what.

Actually, that isn’t quite right.

“Rus,” you hiss urgently, tapping his arm.

“hmm? what?”

“I think someone’s watching us.”

His eye sockets narrow as he looks around. Then, he shrugs. “it’s probably nothing. there’s thousands of people here wandering all over the place.”

“Dude, I doubt there’s even a hundred people here right now,” you protest, not wanting to give up that easily. You are _sure_ you felt eyes on you, and not just in the generic way of people passing by. A shiver runs down your spine.

Before you can argue much more, however, the two of you reach the front of the line. He pays for the cotton candy this time, saying it is his turn to buy a snack for once. Your wallet thanks him for that.

Still, you smack his hand away when he tries to sneak a (fourth) bite of yours. “That’s enough for now. The last thing I want is to be stuck in the splash zone if you start upchucking carnival food.”

“you’re assuming skeletons can vomit.”

Oh. That is a good point. “ _Can_ they?”

Papyrus sighs loudly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “yeah.”

“Then my point stands.” You hide the bag of cotton candy in your backpack. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You barely make it out of the food section before finding what you want to do next.

“Hey, do you think we could stop here for a second?”

"what is it?"

You point at a nearby game where a whole bunch of people — mostly preteens — are shooting water guns at rubber duck targets. "This. I've wanted to win this game since I was… I don't know, probably around four years old. But I always struggled with it, and my parents didn't want to spend all day — or all their money — watching me fail." A bell rings, and a toddler being held up by her parents claps in delight, pointing at a teddy bear bigger than she is. She toddles off, proudly showcasing her victory to the world. "I know it's kinda lame, but I want to redeem myself."

Papyrus nods and starts heading towards the short line. You decide to take that as a silent 'let's go'.

Now, in theory, this game shouldn't be too hard. Sure, carnival games have a reputation for being rigged, but you have seen several others win the lower tier prizes at the very least, along with the odd upper tier. Plus, you have been doing sporty stuff with Alphys for the past year and a half. Sometimes, she has had you throw things like balls. You are pretty sure that your aim has improved since you were a little kid. You can do this!

After about the fifth failed attempt, it becomes clear that you can't do this.

"Come on!" you exclaim, frustrated with yourself and the water gun in your hands. Part of you wonders if it is broken. The teen running the game looks at you in mock pity, taking more of your money to go for another round.

“want some help?”

Part of you wants to surrender, to accept his offer. But, the point of this was for _you_ to finally win this stupid game. To accomplish a goal you have had for most of your life. Still, it isn’t fair to force him to wait for you even longer. _Especially_ considering the fact that you aren’t getting any better.

“Fine.” Maybe you can come back next week, or something.

“okay.” Papyrus moves to stand behind you — and wow, that’s, uh, _very_ close up. His arms circle around you, hands over your own to help guide the gun. Shrill beeps sound off, counting you down to start. With a flashing green light, the game activates.

Even with his presence, you are in control. Whispering in your ear, Papyrus instructs you how to adjust your aim. Up, right, ignore that one and go left, steady, steady…

The bell rings.

“I… I won?”

Papyrus moves to your side, grinning brightly. “you won!”

With your mission accomplished, the two of you go through the park at an impressive speed. For the most part, you let Papyrus choose where to go; somehow, you managed to weedle out the fact that he hasn’t gone to an amusement park since reaching the Surface, and you want his first time to be memorable.

If you ever go with him to one in the future, you refuse to go on the spinning cups ride, though. Not with him in control over the spinner.

Never again.

You are personally ready to call it a day. The sky is darkening, and you are starting to tire out.

Suddenly, you see one ride, and you know you _have_ to go on it.

“Hey, Papyrus, you up for one more ride?”

“uh, sure?” He shrugs quietly. “if you want.”

“Thanks! Besides, I should be able to get a _great_ picture of sunset from up there,” you say, pointing to the top of the Ferris wheel. “It’s not every day you get to have a view like that.”

“y-yeah.” His voice waivers with hesitation, but you don’t think anything of it. From as far as you can tell, all the humans wandering around has had him lowkey nervous all evening.

“This is gonna be great!”

 

* * *

 

This is going to be an... _interesting_ turn of events, to say the least.

Watching carefully from the distance, Sans figures out his next move as you drag his brother into line with you for the Ferris wheel.

Frankly, he isn’t sure what he would have done if you hadn’t taken his bait and gone out with Papyrus. Certainly, he would have found out another way to sabotage your date for you next test, but this is so,  _so_  much easier.

It was almost _too_ easy, watching your every move, finding ways to make your day inconvenient. Nothing too severe or dangerous; all he wants is proof as to whether or not you can be trusted with his brother in various circumstances and that you aren’t just trying to take advantage of him. Besides, if he were to be _too_ obvious, it would be suspicious.

You and Papyrus turn out of sight, moving forward in line. Soon, you should be getting on. Determined not to miss a thing, Sans climbs some nearby scaffolding to keep you within sight.

Paying off the employees certainly has its advantages. First, at that silly little duck game to make sure your gun didn’t work properly — which conveniently earned him time to sneak a discreet bug onto your backpack — and then here. And honestly? Sometimes humans, as much as they like to go on and pretend to the contrary, aren’t that different from monsters after all.

This is why he is confident that the next part of his plan will work to a T.

Still, a small part of him feels guilty for doing this. Not because of you; it isn’t like your life is on the line or anything. If he wanted to hurt you, he would be much more direct about it. But Papyrus. Stars, he feels bad for preying on his brother in such a way, especially now. Even if it is a necessary evil, it goes against all he has worked for since they were little more than babybones.

In his own defense, part of it is _your_ fault for being so predictable, practically forcing his plans into motion. If his sources on human culture are accurate (unlike the Royal Scientist’s stars-damned baby cartoons), you are being exceptionally romantic. Ending your date on the Ferris wheel, where the two of you could canoodle in the soft glow of sunset? Classic. And that is only the latest example of you sticking to the book all the way throughout the date. Sharing food, especially food Papyrus loves. Fussing over him, making sure he doesn’t make himself sick with his unhealthy habits. Sans will even be generous and count this as a bonus point towards this test’s results. After the duck incident, you let Rus pick you out a stuffed animal as your prize, just as soft and fluffy as your feelings for each other.

Even from a distance, Sans can see Papyrus’ enthusiasm to spend time with you.

This, though, could be his brother’s downfall. In his excitement, it is likely that Papyrus won’t notice how some of the attractions, this next one particularly, could be bad for him. Later, Sans might have to break out the big brother talk and remind him not to be so blinded by his love for you that he neglects to properly assess a situation.

Later though.

For now, he has to watch to make sure you can handle this. The two of you are already on the ride, sitting lazily in a passenger car the same bright pink as the cotton candy you had shared earlier. Soon, the hardest part of today’s test will arrive.

You better not fuck up.

The ride comes to a stop, leaving you and Papyrus stuck midair.

Now to see if his bribes have paid off.

 

* * *

 

He shouldn't have agreed to this.

Sure, you wanted to go. And you looked so happy, like you had finally forgotten that his brother coerced you into coming here with him. You still do, happily taking pictures with your phone. And from far away, the ride didn’t look _that_ high up.

A small bird flies past his feet. He makes the mistake of looking _down_ , gulping quietly.

Yeah, he was wrong.

It wasn’t too bad when the ride was moving. He could concentrate on everything going around, on the changes in scenery. If he pretended enough, he could say it was just a screen in front of him, and he was sitting in an enclosed bench with you on the ground where he belongs.

But now…

Now, stuck in the middle of the air, the only movement coming from the wind as it shakes the car? Tilting back and forth and back and forth, painfully aware that he is way too far off the ground and —

_DON’T THINK ABOUT IT!_

Even as a child, Papyrus _hated_ heights. Always has. Sans tried to help him get over it, he really did, and Papyrus tried hard too, but it never worked. Even climbing trees in Snowdin to hide or to be on the lookout was enough to get his bones rattling as the world spun around him, his magic itchy and churning erratically because he’s going to fall, he only has 1 HP, he will be left vulnerable on the ground, easy EXP for even the weakest of monsters —

“You okay?”

Those words are enough to snap his attention to you. Maybe, if he keeps focusing on you, he will be able to forget.

He wants to forget.

“Rus?” Your face is crinkled in concern, reminding him that he just needs to get it together to answer you.

”i’m…” _Breathe. And again._ “... i’m fine. i’m, uh, just not the biggest fan of heights. so, yeah.” He closes his eyes, trying not to grimace as the passenger car tilts once more. “any idea how much longer this is gonna be?” _Stars_ , why is his voice so shaky? He knows his fear is obvious, now. Anyone could take advantage of it, and by consequence, him.

“Oh bud,” you murmur lowly, “why didn’t you…?” Your voice trails off as you shake your head. “Nevermind. I’m not sure. But this is a slow ride, and usually they do a few loops. When we get near the bottom, do you want me to ask the operator if we can get off right away?”

 _Stars yes!_ He wants to get down, now. But he can’t! That would be showing weakness, and who knows who else is watching? Just because you are being nice to him right now doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone else hiding. You mentioned feeling like you were being watched earlier. Personally, he didn’t, but maybe he is losing his touch, now that he is on the Surface.

So if he can’t ask to end the ride, it means that he will have to put himself through this for even longer. Besides the fact that he just _doesn’t want to_ , he would have to deal with the other risks. He doesn’t feel okay, and that is a fact.

Maybe, he could ask to get off, but play it off as something else? Yeah! Maybe he could convince you to pretend that you really need to use the bathroom, or something. That way, he can get off, but he doesn’t have to show his fears. Yes, that could work!

But, if he got off, you would have to as well. And you specifically asked to go on this ride. You are enjoying yourself, and what kind of friend does that make him if he ruins that for you?

What is he supposed to do?

 

* * *

 

You don’t know what you are supposed to do.

Now, you may not be a professional, but you can tell Papyrus is freaking out. That’s obvious. But how should you handle it? He still hasn’t answered your question as to what he needs, so you have to make the decision yourself, it seems. Instinctively, you want to ask to get off the ride as soon as possible, but you can’t really call down for help from up here. The only way you could think to ask is to play a game of Ferris wheel Telephone, which doesn’t sound like it would work that well.

Pushing down your own worries — someone needs to be the calm adult here, and clearly that someone is going to have to be you — you place your hand gently over his own.

Immediately, Rus flinches away from you. You pull back, apologies ready to spill from your mouth.

Just as quickly as he flinched, he grabs your hand desperately. His grip is almost too tight, bone-crushing. But at least this is something. You can work with this.

“Hey, wanna hear a joke?” You don’t get a verbal response, but something in his expression shifts. Hopefully, it is something good. “What’s the difference between a piano and a fish.” You pause, waiting. Nothing. “You can tune a piano, but you can’t _tuna fish_!”

His grip relaxes a bit.

“Hey, how do you make a kleenex dance?” You consider wiggling a bit to add to the punchline, but decide against it. If heights bug him, it would probably just make matters worse. “You put a little _boogie_ in it.”

His mouth twitches upwards. Good. You run your other hand over his, gently stroking each bone.

“Knock knock.”

“... who’s there?” It is barely a whisper, yet you know it is a solid step in the right direction.

"Boo."

"boo who?"

"Hey, don't cry; it's just a joke."

This earns you a full snort. "stars," he snickers, mouth hiding behind his free hand as his shoulders shake lightly, "that's _awful_!"

"Yeah it is. But it still got you to laugh, so it can't be too bad."

The ride lurches forward, finally moving. The increasing pressure on your hand isn’t a surprise. Not now that you know. You rack your brain, trying to recall some more jokes, no matter how lame they may be. That worked last time, so it should work again. Right?

Papyrus doesn’t let go of your hand until your passenger car comes to a solid stop at the loading zone. You let him get off first, standing up soon after to support his shaky legs. The ride operator gives you a concerned glance, but you just smile lightly. “Don’t worry; he just needs to find his land legs.”

The operator nods, mechanically reciting, “Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

You know you planned on leaving the park right after the Ferris wheel, but you have something you need to do.

Guiding him to a quieter area, you look around for an empty bench. Failing that, you simply choose to sit down on the concrete ledge surrounding some bright flowers, patting beside you. “You okay?”

“yes,” he says firmly, staring straight at his shoes.

“All right.” You aren’t going to argue with him about this. Not now. “Wanna buy some snacks before we leave? My treat.”

He smiles. “who am i to turn that down?”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the Papyrus I know, that’s for sure. Get up, I think I know just the place in the park.”

He doesn’t budge, looking up to you with teasing eye lights and outstretched arms. “carry me?”

“Yeah, no,” you laugh, “that’s not happening. Maybe next time, we can rent one of those little kid car things for you to ride around on.” You do help hoist him to his feet, though.

He bounces forward unexpectedly, causing you to stumble. “can it be one of those ones that are shaped like animals? if so, dibs on a dinosaur. also, can we race?”

“Only if you want to get kicked out of wherever we would be.” You pause, thinking. “Hey,” you start, voice more solemn. “Can we make each other a promise?”

Midstep, Papyrus freezes. “depends.”

Fair enough. “All right. I want us to promise not to hide things that make us uncomfortable from each other. I’m here for you in this, and I want you to feel safe, you know? And I’d like to think you’d do the same for me. So, do you think you could do that?”

“yeah. i promise.”

 

* * *

 

Interesting.

Sans waits until you have fully exited the vicinity of the Ferris wheel to pack up his notes. From what he heard from his bug (he needs to remember to get Alphys to thank Undyne for that pretty little piece of tech), you are taking a quick stop to buy some candy before leaving for the night. Good; not only will that help settle Papyrus down, but it also buys Sans more time to get home, considering his brother will probably just manipulate time and space to do so himself.

Today's results are very satisfactory. You did better than expected, guiding Papyrus through his fear. Very few individuals would do that well, provided Papyrus allowed himself to be placed in a situation where it would be discovered. Hell, even Sans has struggled to calm him down as quickly as you did — once you finally clued in.

Not only that, but you didn’t berate Papyrus for his acrophobia. That was definitely a concern: that you would help, but then make him feel bad about it. Stars knows Papyrus does that enough to himself; he doesn’t need _anyone_ else — especially not his datemate — to do that to him. If anything, you did the opposite, based on that shared promise. To borrow his brother’s phraseology, the whole affair sounds _promising_.

True, you aren't in the clear yet, not that Sans was expecting that to be the case. He needs to be patient, giving himself time to see if you have any hidden colours to reveal. Because, if you do have any, he will discover them. No doubts about it.

What matters now is you passed his test.

This time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Test #2: success  
> Test(s) #3-?: good luck
> 
> I've had that [Jurassic Park video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-w-58hQ9dLk) stuck in my head all week because of this chapter, by the way.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	7. A Workout and a Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have your workout day with Alphys, AKA one of the founding members of your fake relationship. That can only go perfectly well, right?

“Hey, Spot,” Alphys shouts, looking back towards you. She is still far ahead as she effortlessly sprints what you are now calling the Stairs of Death. “I need some relationship advice.”

Panting, you decide to wait and walk in place until she finishes going up and sprints back down towards you. There is no way you are keeping up with her! Not in this lifetime, at least.

“Why are you asking me?” You, as she has once ever so politely said, are ‘single as _FUCK_ '. You are probably one of the least qualified people she knows to ask about dating stuff. Scratch that; you are _definitely_ the least qualified person she knows to ask about dating stuff. She could easily find better stuff with just a quick google search, and goodness knows the internet is full of just as much sketchy information as good. Heck, the _Undernet_ probably even has some reliable information, and that is really saying something.

“Why the hell not? You and Papyrus are grossly happy together.”

Oh. 

Right.

You forgot about that. Whoops. 

“Yeah, well… uh, you and Undyne have been going out longer than us. Rus and I, we’re, um, only like a level one or two at dating. By default, you two should be at least at level eight.” Does this even make sense? Hopefully; you don’t know what kind of advice to give if your excuse doesn’t work. “If anything, I should be asking _you_ for advice.”

You know you made a crucial error when Alphys stops running. She stares at you, single eye glinting as a large grin covers her face. 

Oh. No.

“I don’t know, nerd. I don’t think you’re ready for some _advanced_ dating advice yet. But hey, let me know when you are.” She blinks exaggeratedly. Wait — that is probably supposed to be a wink again. “‘Dyne could use some more writing material.” Yeah, in that case, she was most certainly winking.

“Yeah, that’s never gonna happen, Alph. Also, knock it off with the shipping real people thing. Especially when it’s me.”

“But you’re so perfect together!” You scowl, hoping it adequately displays your disapproval. Considering the derisive snort you get in response, it doesn’t. “Now c’mon; let’s get back to running.” 

Alphys starts pulling your by the arm, but you dig your heels in to the best of your ability. “Nope. If you want to talk about this, we’re _not_ running.” Been there, done that. It turns out, you _like_ being able to breathe while you run. Or while you talk. Actually, you just like breathing in general. “We’re speed walking.”

“ _Fine_ ,” she groans. 

Just before she starts off again, you make one more addendum. “By _my_ definition of speed walking.” If you leave her to choose the pace, you would basically be jogging.

“Spoilsport.” Still, she respects your request, so you can’t complain.

“So,” you start, somewhat hesitantly. Besides the fact that you doubt you can offer any solid help, you aren’t sure you necessarily want to dive into your friend’s relationship issues. “What’s the question? I thought things were going fine between you and Undyne.”

“Ugh, ‘fine’,” she spits out, disgust filling her voice. “Fine is the problem! I don’t want our relationship to be just _fine_. It should be great! _Passionate!_ Not ‘fine’.” Frustrated, she moves off the main trail to punch a nearby tree. You wince upon noticing that the force of her fist caused the trunk to shake slightly, leaves trembling on their branches. Yikes. You do _not_ envy that tree. With a vicious snarl, she whips back around to face you. Carefully, you take a step back. “What do I do?”

“I… I don’t know.” This, clearly, isn’t the right answer, as your friend just gets more and more agitated. She paces around you, even as you continue walking. “Have you talked to Undyne about this?”

“Nooooo…”

“Have you _considered_ talking to your girlfriend about your relationship?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean…” Alphys bellows a demonstration of her battlecry, as though she can intimidate the issue at hand away. Sometimes, you wouldn't put it past her. With that taken care of, she returns, more quietly explaining, “I don’t want to freak her out, you know? Undyne can be a bit sensitive sometimes. I don’t want her to take this the wrong way.”

“Okay.” That makes sense, you guess. As much as she may enjoy relationship drama in her various tv shows, Alphys doesn’t want it in her own life. 

Boy, is _that_ ever a mood? Too bad it feels like your life is slowly turning into a cheesy romcom with the whole Papyrus situation.

You walk a bit longer before spotting a slightly rundown sandwich place. Pointing towards it, you say, “It’s almost lunchtime. You wanna head inside to talk a bit more?”

“Why not? I could use a refuel.” 

If the expression of the server who greets you is any indicator, you and Alphys make quite a unique pair. Of course, the intense glare the lizard monster sends his way when he tries to place you at a table within earshot of a booth of elderly ladies probably doesn’t help. Soon, you are seated in the quietest, most private section of the building.

“Was that really necessary?” you ask once the server has run away with your orders.

“Yes,” she says curtly. “Now talk; I need a plan of action, stat.”

Teasingly, you tell her, “Hey Alphys, your Captain is showing.”

Oh look, it is your turn to get the glare, though it holds less severity. “Shut _up_ and talk already.”

You unfold your napkin on the table, smirking. “Which would you rather me do: shut up or talk?”

Narrowly, you avoid getting hit on the nose by her blowing her straw wrapper at you defiantly, leaning back away from the table. When she misses, Alphys huffs overly loud in irritation. Because you are a brat, you wait until she turns her head enough that she can’t see you out of the peripheral of her good eye to blow your straw wrapper right back at her.

“ _Argh_ ,” she groans, balling up the thin tube of paper to huck at you. Oh wait, it is floating in your drink now. Gross. You fish it out with your spoon before it dissolves as she says, “Seriously, though, punk. Do you have any advice or not?”

“I mean, nothing super revolutionary. Like it or not, you _should_ probably talk with her. After all, communication is a huge part of a healthy relationship.”

Another groan. She starts to say something else, but stops. " _Yes?_ " Alphys asks the server, who is hovering with a hot plate of food.

Gulping, he places it in front of you. "Uh, here's your order," he stammers, staring eyes wide at Alphys. "Your food should be out right away. Anything else I can help you with?"

"No," she responds.

"Thanks," you call after him. He raises a hand for a quick wave, acknowledging you as he scurries off to the kitchen.

Alphys chugs her drink, ignoring her straw, and belches with gusto. "Now, where were we?"

"I was telling you to talk to your girlfriend."

“Right,” she grumbles, poking her fork at your plate. With a sigh, you hand over a fry, which she consumes in a single bite. "You sound like Sans, you know. Before Undyne and I got together. 'Just tell her already.'" Fondly, she adds, "The little punk. Knew he was trouble from the minute I let him into the Guard."

Well, Sans being trouble is surely one thing you can agree with wholeheartedly. One hundred percent, absolutely  _yes_. "Really? What was he like?" 

Alphys may _want_ a plan of action to help with Undyne, but you _need_ one to deal with Sans. Just to be safe.

“Sans? He was a try-hard, right from the start, always wanting to prove himself.” She pauses as shy server guy sets her plate before her. His demeanor relaxes considerably when she gives him a curt nod before tearing into her food. Around a mouthful of her own fries, she continues, “Suspiciously energetic at first, too. But hey, he was the first recruit in a long time to properly manage dust identification training in Snowdin, so points to him.”

You already have a feeling you won’t like the answer to this, but you have to ask. “Dust identification training?”

She looks directly at you for a few seconds, expression grim. A non-verbal warning; change the subject or deal with the consequences. You go for the latter, as much as you may regret choosing not to live in blissful ignorance. Casually, she says, “Dust identification training was something everyone in the Guard had to go through. It’s exactly what it sounds like, but dust recovery methods had to change in the different areas of the Underground. Hotland, as long as nothing ended up falling into the lava, was a simple sweep and collect, no different than the Capital. In Waterfall, you’d need to collect dust from water. We had a special pan we’d use to separate it from the mud. The scientists at ‘Dyne’s lab used to bitch if we sent them dirty samples for analysis.”

“Like gold panning?” 

Alphys looks at you skeptically. “Sure. I guess. Anyways, Snowdin was always the hardest area, not just because of that gross weather. There was a special way you had to melt the snow before sending it to the pans. Plus, it was harder to find. Dust was always getting buried in snow drifts.”

That makes sense. Finding one light, powdery substance amidst another sounds like a worse version of a needle in a haystack. 

When you recall what type of dust the two of you are talking about, you place your fork down, feeling slightly queasy. 

Right. _Dust_. As in, monster remains.

“Sorry.”

Alphys rolls her eye. “Why this time?”

“For bringing up the whole dust thing. Probably not a good lunch conversation topic.”

“For you, maybe,” she scoffs, tearing a large bite from her sandwich. “In case you forgot, this was my everyday job. This is _nothing_. But for your delicate human needs, we can change the subject.”

As condescending as it sounds, her words bring a small smile to your face. She means well, even if her execution sometimes leaves much to be desired. “Thanks, Alph. So, what were you going to say before I interrupted?”

“Let’s see… dust identification… _RIGHT!_ The point is, he did so well at Snowdin that I just gave the twerp the territory as his own barely a year later. Didn’t disappoint me, unlike that brother of his. 

“Now the mutt, he was a special kind of pain. As a sentry, he was always slacking off, doing who knows what on his never-ending ‘break time’. The infuriating thing was that he always managed to do _just_ enough that I couldn’t discipline him for it.” She notices you slowing down with your meal. “Are you gonna eat that?”

You push the plate forward. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks, Spot. When he was under Sans’ command, Papyrus was decent, I guess. I never really saw them in action, but the results were always decent. In my opinion, he was too soft for everything.” She smirks sharkishly. “Well, too soft for everything except you, apparently." Reaching across the table, she pokes your arm. "Freaking fluffy marshmallows.”

“What can I say?” Seriously, what _can_ you say? Denying it isn’t going to work, not without telling her the truth. And as much as you would like to do that, you aren’t doing it without Papyrus.

“You _could_ give me some intel about how things are going with you two lovebirds.”

You firmly shake your head. “How ‘bout not?”

“Come _on_ ,” she pleads, and that should be a warning. It really should. “You told me to talk to Undyne about our relationship and feelings stuff. What better way to ease into it than to get her in a good mood by talking about her favourite otp?”

You… you don’t even know where to start. 

“Here, I’ll help and give you some ideas,” she suggests rather unhelpfully, or at least in your opinion. “What’s he like in bed? Or, should I say, the _bone zone_.”

Barely in time, you cover your mouth with your hand, narrowly avoiding spewing your drink all over her face in shock. You cough a few times, mind racing, yet blank of any appropriate way to respond to that. “Um, yeah. No.” Nope, that wasn’t coherent. Good try, though. You cradle your head on your hands, resting your elbows on the table. “I’m going to use my right to remain silent now, please. Clearly, anything I say can and will be used against me at a later time.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Alphys huffs, not having the decency to look anything other than annoyed at you. “At least you’re learning, punk.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

"Also,” she says, quickly finishing up the rest of your food, “if it makes you feel better, Undyne and I think you're a decent specimen. For a human, I mean. Even if you are definitely _not_ my type."

It takes a few moments for your brain to reboot after _that_ little tidbit of information. Now, you need to back this up.

"First of all, ew. Secondly, I was considering being nice and offering to pay for your lunch, but that's not happening today. Third, can I say _ew_ again? Why would you think that would make me feel better about anything?"

She nonchalantly raises a shoulder. “Eh, she wanted me to tell you at some point. With the manga she’s planning on making, she figured you’d feel better about it if you weren’t insecure about your looks or something. Thought it was worth a shot.”

“Ever think that my issues with her manga have to _with_ the fact she’s making a manga about my life, specifically my love life?” Sure, it is a fictional love life, but still. Not cool. “Seriously, shipping real people, it’s not okay. Anime is one thing, but when it’s my own life…” You trail off, hands gesturing vaguely, unsure of the best way to make your point.

“Yeah, but you’re my favourite human. _And_ , your boyfriend is my favourite soldier’s brother. How can I _not_ ship you guys?”

Oh.

You think you get her a bit better, now. 

“You do realise there are other ways to support real people’s relationships, right?”

“Sure. But how else can I show how much I approve? Am I just supposed to stand to the side and _tell_ you of my support?” Her tone is incredulous, doubting that as a plausible option.

You are sorely tempted to simply say ‘yes’ and move on. However, this needs to be resolved as soon as possible. “I mean, that works, but there’s other ways to show your approval and all that. I’d list some now, but I think the server is getting antsy for us to pay and go. My point is, though, that you — and Undyne — please, _please_ need to stop with the otp stuff. Or, at least when it’s me. Go wild with the fictional characters.”

Alphys sighs. “I won’t bug you about it anymore. Sound good?”

Honestly, that makes it sound like she plans on continuing to ship you and Papyrus, but from a distance. Knowing her, that is definitely the case. Not ideal, but you can live with that, you guess. “Sounds good,” you confirm.

She nods seriously. “Do you want an official oath?”

You don’t hesitate with this one. Not after that one conversation you had months ago, when she ever so casually mentioned dust oaths. At first, you had simply assumed it was monster terminology for a blood oath. A serious promise. You were close, but you hadn’t imagined it to be nearly as severe as it is. You don’t need a promise of death should she let you down, thanks. “Nah, I’m good.”

“If you say so. Now, who’s paying?”

You snort. “We’ve been through this, I thought: you, obviously. You owe me for emotional damage. Plus, it’s your turn anyways.”

“Fine.” She waves down your server, grabbing her wallet with her other. “This just means that I’m choosing where we go next time you pay, so be ready to buckle up and bring your big kid wallet, nerd.”

You can’t wait.

As for now, you just have to convince her to let you have some time for your food to settle in your stomach before running again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did this chapter decide to fight me? And why did I get random insights into Alphys' character *right* before posting? I'm tired; can't it wait for later? No? Fine.
> 
> But seriously, what's with people asking their single friends for relationship advice? How do you expect me, one of the most single people to ever single, to be able to give you help about your s/o? I know nothing except hypothetical knowledge, please ask someone else.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	8. A Flare-up and a Tray of Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus comes over for an impromptu visit and you make cookies together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Subtly adds some shiny new tags, which I recommend checking out before reading*

“i’m not leaving, so you’d better take your attitude and shove it somewhere, sans, ‘cause i swear on the exiled king’s wilting flower bed, i’m going to stay here and help!”

Something in the kitchen shatters. If Papyrus were to place a bet on it, he would say a mug. Angel knows it isn’t the first time.

“I _TOLD_ YOU,” Sans says, gritting out every word because of _course_ he would still try to remain in control, even now, “IT’S NOT HAPPENING. GO AND SPEND SOME TIME WITH YOUR DATEMATE BEFORE I — BEFORE _IT_ GETS BAD.”

"not. happening.” He leans against the kitchen door, which is locked, of course. Not that it would do any good; Papyrus has his ways of getting in, and Sans knows it. “i’m a grown ass skeleton. i can stay here if i want. hell, i’ll even stay in my room if it will help you cool your jets, but i’m not leaving you alone like this.”

Another shatter, this time followed by a thud. Sans stomping, maybe? Or perhaps a punch. Just as long as he didn’t send his fist through the wall again; that is a pain to repair. “NO! GO AWAY!”

That’s it, Papyrus has had enough of this. He bursts into the kitchen, noticing with a pang to his soul the exact moment his brother notices him. Sans, still clinging desperately to the control which keeps evading him, puts as much physical distance between them as he can with Papyrus blocking the only exit. 

Frustration swells within him, but there is nothing he can do about it. Sans’ stubbornness, even when in the throes of a flare-up of his LV, is legendary. 

Both of them knew this was inevitable. For the past few weeks, all the signs had been there. Increased spurts of pent-up energy. Demonstrating aggression at the slightest of things, like the television volume being set one level too high. Even more wariness than normal. Like it or not, Sans was going to have a flare-up.

Sans always has so much control over his LV, but sometimes, that same ironclad control is the very problem. He bottles it up, letting it build and build and build until he explodes, and there is nothing anyone can do about it. The only thing that _can_ be done is to clean up whatever mess ensues from the fallout.

His stubbornness has always been a thorn in Papyrus’ side. Now, it is mostly because Sans won’t let him help, despite all the other times he has had his back during similar attacks. It is infuriating, especially since all Sans is doing is making things worse for himself. After all, his LV is similar to Alphys’, and she has nowhere near the troubles with it as he does, because she isn’t as stubborn about being in complete control all the time. She is more likely to fall into a brief, minor rage because of her LV, but that is the thing: it is _minor_. Smaller bursts instead of an atomic bomb. 

And from the looks of things, this atomic bomb is going to cause global destruction.

“let me help you,” he says firmly, yet with an underrunning gentleness. He _wants_ to help.

Sans shakes his head, small droplets of sweat flying off. His hands are digging into the counter, hard enough that gouges might be left behind by his claws despite the gloves he always wears to cover them. Bright magic flares. His head hanging low, he refuses to meet his brother’s gaze. “I CAN’T.” _I’ll hurt you_.

Papyrus takes a step forward. “i survived the underground, dammit. why do you feel the need to coddle me now that we’re fucking safe up here?”

“BECAUSE WE _ARE_ SAFE. YOU DON’T NEED TO DEAL WITH THIS, AND I KNOW NOTHING BAD WILL HAPPEN TO US IF YOU LEAVE. IT’S THE LESS RISKY CHOICE, BROTHER, AND I’M TELLING YOU TO TAKE IT.”

“and have you deal with this alone? no.” 

“ _PLEASE_ ,” Sans begs, “DON’T LET ME HURT YOU.”

It is the please that gets him, the soul-wrenching tone as his voice cracks slightly. “fine,” Papyrus surrenders, “but you better call if you need my help.”

He nods slightly, the best that he is going to get out of him. “YOU KNOW THE PROCEDURE?”

“yes, sir,” he says automatically. This isn’t a new thing. Sans wants Papyrus to barricade him away in a certain area of the house. Not the kitchen, even though Papyrus knows it will be a fight to get him out now that he has established himself here, there are too many knives and other items to turn into weapons. If they were back in Snowdin, he would just shortcut them to the shed, which was heavily soundproofed. Here, though, they don’t have that option. Based on the last time he had a flare-up on the Surface, Sans’ bedroom is probably the best place to lock him up. It won’t stop him at all, but it will at least slow down the destruction.

“DO IT.”

Before Sans can change his mind and fight, Papyrus shortcuts over and grabs him by the shoulders, bringing him upstairs immediately. His feet are barely planted on the floor when his brother struggles out of his grasp.

“sans —”

Breathing ragged, he shouts, “I SAID GO AWAY, PAPYRUS!”

“i am,” he promises solemnly. “just... be careful, okay?”

“YES. NOW, _GO!_ ”

Papyrus doesn’t need to be told another time.

 

* * *

 

“Erwin, bud, are you sure this where you want to be right now?”

He pauses from grooming his paws to glare at you, unimpressed. Apparently not. 

Ah, well. At least it isn’t like you have anything you need to do. If you did, you probably wouldn’t be sprawled out on the couch in ratty pyjamas, staring blearily at the food channel after waking up from a short nap. Sometime during your slumber, Erwin decided that your lower stomach would be a good place to settle down for a nap of his own.

Not that it does him any good when you hear someone at the door, though. “Sorry, Win-win,” you say, removing him so you can get up. The cat meows at you until you settle him back down onto the couch.

The bell rings again, followed by some knocking. Loudly, you call out, “I’m coming!” You unlock the door, saying, “Did you forget your keys again, Miya? You —”

That isn’t Miya.

“uh, hi,” Papyrus says. “can i come in?”

“Sure, dude. You just, uh, chill for a few. Imma be back once I get dressed, okay?”

“thanks.” He stalks inside after you, gravitating towards the cat as you continue to your bedroom.

Something about this doesn’t seem right.

Papyrus, to say the least… he doesn’t look okay. You aren’t sure of the best way to describe it. Maybe he seems extra tense today? The shadows under his eyes are prominent as ever. His clothes are a bit wrinkly, but that doesn’t seem like much of a clue.

You get dressed even more quickly.

By the time you get back to the living room, Papyrus is a puddle on the couch with a purring Erwin cuddled onto his lap. In a word, adorable.  

“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your tone nice and cheery, “Hey, what brings Tall and Bony to my front door today?”

“sans... sans kicked me out,” he mutters sourly.

“He _what?!?_ ” 

At this moment, you don’t care about anything. You don’t consider the fact that Sans is the ambassador, or that he could easily kill you. All you know is that he hurt your friend, and you are _ready_ to kick his ass.

“just for a few hours,” he reassures you. It doesn’t work. “look, i don’t wanna talk about it.”

"Fine," you reluctantly agree. He just keeps stroking Erwin, tense as ever. "Hey, wanna help me with something?"

Papyrus' eye sockets narrow in suspicion. "depends. does it require manual labour?"

"Not really," you shrug. "I mean, nothing more than what I could do as a preschooler. I'll even do all the heavy lifting."

"i can probably live with that, i guess." He starts to get up, only to freeze with a comically horrified expression.

"What's wrong?" you snicker. You have a pretty good feeling what it is.

"the kitty!"

"He'll be fine," you say as you scoop him from his lap. It is hard to tell who feels more betrayed by your actions: Papyrus or Erwin. "He's just spoiled. Now, to the kitchen!"

Giving the cat one last pet, he joins you on your quest. "Sit down," you say, digging around various cupboards. "I just need to… ah! There it is!"

"a piece of paper?"

"Not just any piece of paper." You wave the creased, stained and partially torn sheet over your head. "This, my friend, is my grandmother's cookie recipe. It's one of the first things I ever made."

"you're making cookies?"

"Correction: _we're_ making cookies. Now buckle up, buttercup, and grab me a large mixing bowl."

Now, in theory, making a large batch of cookies should be the perfect distraction for Papyrus from whatever convinced Sans to kick him out. It keeps his hands busy, his mind busy and there is the promise of cookies to consume once they are done.

The key words here are _in theory_.

Don't get it wrong; you certainly believe that he is distracted. It is just that he is also _destructive._  You didn't think it was possible to mess things up so badly with this recipe, considering you couldn't even write your name the first time you made it and you had to stand on a dining room chair to even reach the counter. 

The worst is when you make the mistake of letting him use your mixer. All you did was turn your back for five seconds to grab the eggs. But by the time you face forward again, your kitchen is covered in all the dry ingredients which had once been found in your large mixing bowl.

A powdery Papyrus gives you a sheepish grin. "oops?"

Wordlessly, you unplug the mixer and confiscate it. You take out all the dry ingredients once more and slide the recipe over. 

It looks like you are going to have to do this the old fashioned way. 

"Don't take this the wrong way," you start, after having shown him for at least the tenth time which spoon is the tablespoon, "but have you ever, you know, _made_ something in the kitchen before?”

“do messes count, because i’ve made a lot of those.”

“I can believe that.” Even stirring with a spoon, he managed to overturn at least half of your dough. It is a good thing you decided on making a quadruple batch. “I’m guessing Sans takes care of most of the cooking?”

“yeah,” he says quietly, “he does. he does most of everything when it came to taking care of me, but he won’t let me help him for once now, the stubborn asshole.”

Well, so much for avoiding the topic of Sans. Good job with that. The least that you can do now is try to be a supportive friend. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“not really.”

“Okay.” You take out one last bowl and some white sugar. “I think we’re ready for the last step before we put these cookies in the oven. And don’t worry; this one is right up your alley.”

“does it involve eating the cookie dough?” Papyrus asks, eyeing the mixing bowl hopefully.

“Fine: second last step.” Demonstrating, you spoon out some cookie dough and carefully roll it into a ball. Then, you dunk the ball into the small bowl, covering every inch in a thin layer of sugar before placing it onto a cookie sheet. “There.”

He copies your process, although his balls are less perfect spheres and more roundish lumps. “can i eat the sugar when i’m done?”

You shrug. “Knock yourself out.” It isn’t like you will be reusing it for anything.

“ _sweet_.”

Your tray is filled to about half of its capacity when Papyrus mutters under his breath, “i _hate_ lv.”

You glance up, brow wrinkled as you try to figure out the context. “Hmm?”

“it’s sans’ lv. it’s acting up again, real bad, so he kicked me out until it can pass.” Angrily, he digs into the firm cookie down, bending the spoon. “he’s always so worried about helping me, the paranoid jerk. all he’s ever done has always been for me.” Voice strained, he adds, “that’s why his lv is so high to begin with.”

“Oh,” you respond, voice hollow. You don’t know what you are supposed to say. 

Not that it matters, as Papyrus just keeps ranting. “he joined the guard way too young, because he knew that it would protect me. it didn’t matter to him that it would mean breaking the stripes proclamation; it was a way to earn legal money, and it would give him the status to keep me safe.”

“How on earth did he manage to do that?” 

Toriel’s Stripes Proclamation is one of the only monster laws that you know, only because aspects of it still impact monster culture on the Surface. Apparently, it was one of the only good laws she made after things went downhill. The Proclamation gave a long list of criteria as to who was legally considered a child, and made it illegal to dust them. The only disadvantage was that it included child labour laws, which explains why Sans would have needed to break it to join the Royal Guard.

Because of how hard it is to determine if a monster is a child based on appearance alone, they were required to wear striped clothing, hence the name of the decree. Over the years, several additions were made to the Stripes Proclamation, such as the fact that all monster-made clothing must be enchanted so that any stripes disappear by the time the wearer reaches maturity — or, more accurately, puberty — to prevent people from falsely appearing as children. It was like the reverse of buying fake IDs to get into a bar or club.

“he got his hands on some unstriped clothing and went for an interview. skeletons aren’t really common, so i guess it wasn’t too hard to convince alphys that he was just short for a skeleton.” A bitter smile makes its way across his face. “guess it wasn’t much of a lie, though; he’s still a shrimp.”

“Or maybe you’re just freakishly tall.”

“maybe.” Papyrus puts down his spoon, staring straight at the flour on your wall. “you know, even before, he used to kill to keep us safe. each time his lv would go up, he would say, ‘papy, this is for you. as long as i’m alive, you’ll never have to do this.’”

The words escape your mouth before you even think. “Did you? Did you ever have to?”

Papyrus doesn’t answer. 

His silence is answer enough.

Deep down, it should bother you that he has killed. It should. Strangely enough, though, it doesn’t. Not even in the slightest.

Placing the cookies in the oven, you set a timer. “Let’s just put all the dishes in the sink to soak for now, okay?” Papyrus nods, only shoveling spare bits of cookie dough and sugar into his mouth once you send those specific bowls his way.

You barely get everything into the sink when Papyrus’ phone rings. “sans?”

Swiftly, you make your exit, pointing towards Erwin, who has one of his jingly toys out in the living room. You have a feeling this is a call where you should give him some privacy.

“hey,” Papyrus says, walking in with his phone still in his hands, “i need to go.”

“Really? You didn’t even get to try the cookies you made.”

“i know. it’s just… sans’ flare-up is gone, but he isn’t really himself, you know? i don’t want him to be alone right now.”

Hearing Papyrus’ broken tone… it really pulls at your heart. Yes, Sans is a jerk, no doubt about it. You are still scared of what those tests he has threatened may mean for you. But…

“Papyrus? If you want, you can bring him here.”

His eye sockets widen. “really? you mean it?”

“Yeah,” you exhale. “I mean, we made a lot of cookies, and I can’t — I mean, I _shouldn’t_ — eat them all by myself.”

“i’ll be right back.”

With that, he sprints out the door, leaving you alone with your questions as to whether or not you just made a massive mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, who was ready for this to be just cute fluff? 
> 
> Just me?
> 
> Whoops.
> 
> Seriously, though, this was originally just supposed to be a cute chapter of baking cookies. But then my brain happened, and yeah. This happened.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	9. A Recovery and a Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus brings Sans over to your place after his flare-up.

It is always a coin flip as to what Sans is like after an LV flare-up.

Sometimes, he acts as normal as always, a bundle of controlled energy and aggression, ashamed of himself for giving into something over which he has no control. On those days, Papyrus knows better than to even reference the attack. They go on like nothing has happened, even as they sweep up the shards of glass that have been shattered around the house. It is like one of those freak storms here on the Surface: chaotic while it is in the area before passing by without further notice.

Today is clearly the other kind of day. The kind where he runs himself absolutely ragged, both from the fighting and then from the lingering shame of having given in to his LV. The kind where he comes back to himself dead eyed and _exhausted_. The kind when he needs emotional support in any way he can get. In the Underground, these were the worst; Papyrus knew he had to be the strong one, that Sans was too fragile to fulfill that role. And that was a role reversal that neither of them enjoyed.

“hey, bro,” he says gently, carefully putting additional weight into his steps so that Sans can hear them from where he is curled up on the floor. Sans flinches at the sound of his voice, magic sputtering as he prepares for an attack that he doesn’t have the energy to fight. Even halfway across the room, he can see the physical damage caused by the attack, the minor scraping on his fists and the bones which will be bruised by tomorrow morning if he can’t manage to get some rich healing food into him. “it’s just me.”

“PAPY?” His voice is too quiet, almost hoarse.

“yeah. you okay?” The answer is obvious, but he still asks. Just in case.

Sans doesn't answer. Not even a whimper. Dull, barely there eye lights just look up at him blankly.

Stars, it’s a _really_ bad day today.

“hey, um…” How should he bring this up? “want some cookies?” 

There; that’s at least _something_. Hell, it even earns a reaction out of Sans. His brother tilts his head slightly, even as Papyrus moves to crouch down beside him, still leaving that slight bubble of space that he likes so much. When Sans reaches out a single hand, Papyrus scoots closer, running a shaky hand over his skull. Just like Sans does whenever he is upset. _Cookies?_ is the unasked question, along with the implied, _where did you get them?_

“i made them when i was gone.” A weak disbelieving sound escapes Sans. Fine, he deserves that. “okay, it was mostly my, uh, datemate. but i helped! sorta.” He shakes his head, trying to cast off any distracting tangents like a dog shaking water off its coat. “the point is, they invited you over. well, and me too, but yeah.”

“WHAT’S THE COST?”

 _Nothing_ , Papyrus wants to say, _they aren’t like that. It isn’t the Underground anymore_. However, that won’t reassure Sans. Instead, he plasters on an easy grin. “well, i’m pretty sure i’m gonna get roped into cleaning. maybe you too.”

“OF COURSE. THAT IS THE ONLY WAY THEY WILL MANAGE TO GET ANYTHING SUFFICIENTLY TIDY.”

Look at that: multiple complete sentences. Still, Sans sounds completely exhausted, missing his typical rigour. But, hey, it’s progress. Papyrus can work with that.

He waits for Sans to start getting to his feet. He doesn’t pick him up, but he is there to lend a stabilising hand.

“THANK YOU, BROTHER,” he whispers just before Papyrus shortcuts them over to your house.

“always.”

This time, he doesn’t even bother waiting outside to knock at your door. Not with Sans post flare-up. Years of habits are too hard to break, and he doesn’t want to be outside with his brother when they are both at their most vulnerable if he doesn’t have to be. Instead, he strolls right into your living room, guiding Sans to a chair to sit down. He doesn’t resist.

Face still streaked with traces of flour, you freeze in the doorway. “H-how are you back so soon?! It… it hasn’t even been five minutes?! And you’re in the living room? I didn’t even hear the door!”

Right. He hasn’t shown you his shortcuts, has he? Well, as shocked as you may be over him suddenly appearing out of nowhere, this isn’t the time to deal with that.

You may be his friend, but Sans will always come first.

 

* * *

 

 He seems so… subdued.

Like, if you didn’t know any better, you would say this is just some sort of statue made in Sans’ image. Not that it would even be convincing; sure, it _looks_ like Sans, but the mannerisms are all wrong.

If you had ever thought that Papyrus was quiet, that was nothing compared to the Sans you see sitting on your couch. It is like he isn’t even fully there. Which, you guess, is entirely possible: Papyrus did say that Sans isn’t really himself after an LV flare-up.

But this…

This is nothing like the Sans you know. Sure, you may not really know him that well, but at the very least, you can say with confidence that you aren’t afraid of this guy here. If anything, you feel bad for him. Whatever he just went through clearly wasn’t pleasant.

No wonder Papyrus was worried about leaving him alone.  

“So, uh, the first batch should be done in about five minutes. Probably a bit more; I swear my grandma purposely wrote down a shorter baking time on the recipe to make sure that no one ever let them burn by accident. In the meantime, just make yourselves comfortable.”

“sounds good.” Papyrus sits down right beside his brother. “hey, i’m a bit cold. can i borrow a blanket?”

Personally, you find the house to be a bit warm, thanks to the oven, but whatever. It could just be you. “Sure. Give me a minute.”

“thanks.”

Largest blanket in hand — because goodness knows that Papyrus is tall enough to need it if he wants to be remotely covered — you return to the living room. Not much has changed, except Papyrus has moved his arm to drape it over the top of the couch. Erwin has also shown up, observing quietly from his favourite perch by the tv. Without a word, you give your friend the blanket. Carefully, he adjusts it in a way that he and Sans are sharing it perfectly.

“Do either of you want something to drink?”

“warm milk, please. and a spoon.”

You raise a brow. Never in your brief time of knowing Papyrus have you heard him ask for a drink that doesn’t include a large helping of sugar. Plus, the request for a spoon is just plain old weird. He gives a one-shouldered shrug, eyes briefly flickering towards Sans.

Suddenly, things start to make sense.

As much as Papyrus said that Sans was the one protecting him in the Underground, even if it meant killing and breaking the law, it is obvious that he wasn’t alone in that. Here and now, Papyrus is returning the favour.

Even though it is technically for Sans, you give the milk to Papyrus. He smiles and pulls out a sacket of shimmering green powder from his pocket. Concentrated healing magic, you realise. You recognise it from your workouts with Alphys. After a particularly intense one, she sometimes adds in the slightest sprinkle of it to her protein shakes. Apparently, the stuff is expensive as hell; something about the type of monsters who produce it being super uncommon. A part of you has always wondered if that was because they were being dusted for their healing magic. You can never bring yourself to asking, scared of the answer. Sometimes, the saying 'ignorance is bliss' is extremely true to life before the Surface for monsters.

Papyrus adds in the whole thing, stirring it thoroughly. 

By the time you take one tray of cookies out to cool and place the next one in to cook, Papyrus is sprawled out, arm splayed on the other end of the couch, snoring softly. Good; he always seems so tired. Conversely, Sans seems much more alert now. At the very least, he has the energy to scowl at Erwin, who has settled himself quite comfortably on his lap. The scowl, however, isn’t super convincing, considering how he is petting the little beasty.

Sitting yourself down on the other side of the room, you ask, “How’s it going?”

Sans bristles, putting his petting to a stop. “WHAT’S IT TO YOU?”

“It’s just a question. Trying to be polite and all. Besides, Papyrus was worried.”

Sans looks down towards his brother. “HE SHOULDN’T HAVE.”

“Yeah, well, he did.” _He still is_ , you think, not that you voice that opinion out loud.

“HE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO,” Sans says insistently. As though he has said too much, he snaps his teeth closed.

Gently, you coax, “Why not?”

His resolve visibly crumbles as he looks back and forth between you and Papyrus. “I’M SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE THAT TAKES CARE OF HIM. NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND.”

“Bullshit. That kind of thing isn’t a one-way street. You’re allowed —”

“ALLOWED WHAT?” Sans scoffs. “TO BE WEAK? TO FORCE MY BROTHER TO FEND FOR HIMSELF _AND_ ME IN A WORLD WHERE HE IS SEEN AS AN EASY TARGET?”

“You’re not Underground anymore! That’s not how the world works up here!”

Sans chuckles humorlessly. “ISN’T IT?”

“Of course not! We don’t just kill each other up here!”

“YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME. YOU KNOW, I WAS APPALLED THE FIRST TIME I SAW THE NEWS WHEN I FINALLY WAS FREED FROM THE CENTRE. I WAS IN MY NEW HOUSE, WATCHING THE NEWS AS I SORTED THROUGH MY PERSONAL BELONGINGS. DO YOU KNOW WHAT I SAW?” He doesn’t give you a chance to answer. “IT WAS REPORTS OF A SCHOOL BOMBING. IMAGINE; AFTER MONTHS OF THOSE HUMANS AT THE CENTRE TOUTING ON AND ON ABOUT HOW AWFUL MONSTER SOCIETY IS, AND HOW MUCH BETTER AND LESS VIOLENT THINGS ARE UP HERE, AND THE FIRST BIT OF NEWS COVERAGE IS ABOUT CHILDREN WHO WERE KILLED WHEN THEY WERE SIMPLY TRYING TO LEARN. HER MAJESTY, SHE WOULD HAVE _NEVER_ STOOD FOR SUCH A THING.”

Stroking Erwin once more, Sans sighs bitterly. “HUMANS MAKE SUCH A BIG FUSS ABOUT HOW VIOLENT AND BARBARIC MONSTER CULTURE IS, BUT AT LEAST WE WERE DIRECT WITH OUR KILLINGS. WERE THE ACTS JUSTIFIED? DEBATABLE; THINGS WERE BAD, PEOPLE WERE DESPERATE AND CROWDED AND WILLING TO DO _ANYTHING_ TO MAKE SURE THAT THEY LIVED LONG ENOUGH TO PERHAPS SEE THE SUN. 

“BUT HUMANS DON’T HAVE THAT EXCUSE. YOU COMMIT GREAT ACTS OF TERRORISM, AND IT’S ALL FROM A DISTANCE. YOU REMOVE YOURSELVES FROM THE SITUATION SO YOU CAN’T FEEL THE WEIGHT OF YOUR SINS.”

“Most humans aren’t like that,” you protest weakly. You try to ignore the fact that, given how many millions more humans there are than monsters, there are probably just as many — if not more — who are criminals.

“PERHAPS.” Sans takes a sip of his milk, which is probably lukewarm by now. You should probably offer to reheat it for him. Yet, it feels inappropriate to interrupt the current conversation to do so. “STILL, IT IS RATHER UNJUST HOW MONSTERS ARE ALWAYS GUILTY FOR KILLING, YET HUMANS AREN’T. QUITE THE CASE OF DOUBLE STANDARDS, WOULDN’T YOU SAY SO?”

“What do you mean?”

“YOUR SOLDIERS, THEY ARE APPLAUDED AS HEROES, EVEN WHEN THERE ARE INNOCENTS AMONG THEIR CASUALTIES OVERSEAS. ME, I’VE KILLED. PLENTY. IN MORE WAYS THAN YOU WOULD EVER WISH TO IMAGINE, I WAGER. SOME OF IT WAS FOR THE GUARD, MAKING ME MERELY A SOLDIER, BOUND TO HIS DUTY. SOME OF IT. 

“SOME OF IT WAS FOR MERCY; WHEN A MONSTER GAINS TOO MUCH LV, THEY BECOME UNSTABLE. TOO UNSTABLE. HER MAJESTY… SHE SAID IT WAS BETTER TO FINISH OFF THE UNSTABLE ONES THAN TO LEAVE THEM TO RECKLESS DESTRUCTION. OTHER TIMES, IT WAS PUNISHMENTS, EXECUTIONS. BESIDES THE FACT THAT I’M NOT HUMAN, WHAT MAKES ME SO DIFFERENT FROM YOUR SOLDIERS?” Softer, almost too quiet for you to hear, he adds, “WHAT MAKES ME THE BAD GUY?”

You really can’t answer that. Sure, you could argue that being a creep who has highkey threatened you makes him a bad guy, but your heart really isn’t in it. After everything you learned today, you can’t. You just can’t.

Instead, you stand up. “I need to check on the cookies.” 

You don’t give him a chance to reply.

 

* * *

 

Tiredly, Sans allows himself the luxury of nestling closer to his brother, even though they aren’t alone. Papyrus barely stirs, a soft huff of breath the only sign that he has noticed the extra weight against his side. The feline who inserted himself onto his lap when he wasn’t paying attention mewls plaintively, as the action causes him to slow his pets. 

All in all, you took that better than he had expected.

Not that he had anticipated saying even one word of what he did, however. That is the disadvantage of recovering from a flare-up; he is too tired to properly monitor himself. His lack of filter has caused him just as much trouble as the flare-ups themselves.

You return from your hasty retreat with another mug of milk. With what you likely imagine is a great deal of subtlety, you place it on the coffee table, directly in front of him. The questioning you hold in your expression is something else you probably assume is a lot less obvious.

He might as well get it over with. “WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT TO KNOW?”

Thankfully, you are smart enough not to ask what he is talking about. He still feels too jittery, and you playing oblivious could easily be the thing to make him snap again. Rather, you go for a slightly safer route, still avoiding your question. “It’s really none of my business. I don’t need to know.”

“I’LL BE THE ONE TO DECIDE THAT.”

You wring your hands slightly. The gesture is so very similar to Papyrus when he is upset. “It’s just… you mentioned the Centre. How you were ‘finally were freed’ from it. Was it really that bad?”

“AH. YES.” He supposes he should have expected that one. It isn’t like the average human was in the loop about everything there.

When he, along with the queen, had agreed to rehabilitation before monsters could go freely on the Surface, that wasn’t what he was expecting. A Better Tomorrow, the charity that the embassy has decided to donate the proceeds from the upcoming benefit concert, had much better succeeded in that role.

The Centre? It was an over glorified prison.

Families were separated, children wrenched from their parents with the claims that they simply wanted to protect them from any LV issues of their parents. Although he cannot relate, Sans imagines this only made things worse. Worry can consume until all that remains is paranoia, which can easily shift into violence.

As someone with a reasonably high LV, he was placed into the ‘high risk’ section of the centre, a fancy way of saying maximum security. Day after day, he was stuck in that tiny room, as plain as can be, forcing himself to seem in control at every moment, knowing that he was likely being monitored. Even the queen had to endure time in the ‘high risk’ section.

In the weeks after, it wasn’t surprising to find out that Falling Down rates had skyrocketed in the Centre. Chara had given them so much hope for a better future on the Surface. To be locked up once more for an indefinite time… 

Then again, very few monsters actually Fell during those last years Underground. Or, at least that they knew of; Undyne may be a genius, but when rumours got out about what happened to her test subjects… well, there was more than one type of mercy killing.

Not everything was awful at the Centre. Some of Sans’ doctors genuinely seemed to care about his well being. Although, that could have just been because he was the ambassador. It is hard to say; any monster he would feel comfortable asking is considered important enough that they too might have received special treatment.

Sans will never forget the day Papyrus told him he was free to go. His brother had been allowed in his room for a few minutes to deliver the news. Papyrus was bouncing with an energy he hadn’t seen since he was still smaller than Sans and innocent of the ways of the Underground. At the time, all he could do was smile and promise that he would be out soon.

Papyrus’ release was a blessing and a curse: Sans was elated to know that he could finally live his dreams on the Surface, but there was also so much fear, because he would be out there alone, where Sans couldn’t protect him. His soul felt like it was going to break apart.

Truly, he won’t be able to properly enjoy the Surface until he shuts the stars-damned place down completely. For now, he is working on convincing the humans to replace it with A Better Tomorrow. It would be a relief. A breath of air as fresh as the parks of the Surface. The employees there are actually devoted to their jobs, which is to _help_. 

But best of all, _all_ monsters would finally be free.

“Sans?”

Reflexes running full gear, Sans doesn’t even think when he hears a voice too close to him. _Too close to Papyrus._ The bone attack is in his hand, ready to inflict damage.

His eyes fly open to face his target. 

Except, it is just you. Papyrus’ datemate.

Just as quickly as the weapon appeared, Sans allows it to dissipate. Your eyes are wide, hands held out in a defensive posture. 

“FOR TODAY, I WOULD RECOMMEND GIVING ME MY SPACE.” 

You nod quickly, resembling a bobblehead. “Got it.”

“TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, THE CENTRE WAS… NOT A GOOD PLACE.” He takes a deep breath, considering how much he should share. He can’t explain why, he thinks he should tell you this. “THOSE WITH LV ISSUES HAD TO STAY THE LONGEST TO MAKE SURE THEY WERE ‘STABLE’. SOME STILL HAVEN’T MADE IT OUT.” To be honest, the only reason he isn’t among that number is because he is good at faking it. He had to be; he couldn’t just leave Papyrus alone.

Carefully, he reaches over to stroke his brother’s sleeping head. “EVERYTHING I DO IS FOR HIM. HE KEEPS ME SANE. I COULDN’T LET MYSELF ROT IN THERE BECAUSE OF MY OWN PROBLEMS.”

 

* * *

 

So… your heart hurts now. Or perhaps it is your soul. 

The point is, you hurt for Sans.

This isn’t the first time he has told you about what all he has done for Papyrus. Hell, that was part of his initial threats. If that wasn’t enough, there was what Papyrus told you today, only to be confirmed once more by Sans himself.

“You really would do anything for Papyrus, wouldn’t you?”

“OF COURSE,” he says, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “PAPYRUS IS MY FAVOURITE BROTHER.”

You furrow your brow. “He’s your _only_ brother. Doesn’t that make him your favourite by default?”

“NO. I COULD HAVE DECIDED HE WAS MY _LEAST_ FAVOURITE BROTHER.”

“I can’t argue with that. Anyways,” you say, stretching, “we made cookies. Eat some.”

“WHY?”

“You’re not doing so great, and apparently baking my grandmother’s cookies has caused me to embody her spirit, which means feeding any upset person I see. So guess what pal? You’re up.”

His eye sockets narrow briefly, assessing you. “FINE. I ACCEPT THESE CONDITIONS.”

You… can’t tell if that is supposed to be a joke or something. “Sounds good.” 

Just before you leave for the kitchen, there is a stirring on the couch, followed by an enormous yawn. “is everyone still alive?” Papyrus mumbles, still half asleep. “do i need to make a quick trip to the e.r.?”

“Not funny.”

“NOT FUNNY.”

“whatever.” He sniffs the air, a smile growing on his face. “be right back,” he calls over his shoulder, running to the kitchen. 

“Take the next batch out of the oven while you’re in there,” you shout. “And don’t forget to use oven mitts!”

“got it!”

“A WISE DECISION TO REMIND HIM; I DON’T PARTICULARLY FEEL UP TO HEALING BURNS RIGHT NOW.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Chances of Papyrus — excited by the prospect of cookies — just grabbing the entire tray with his bare hands is way too high for your comfort.

For a few minutes, all you hear is some generic rustling in the kitchen and Erwin’s purring. Part of you wants to check in on Papyrus. He shouldn’t be taking this long, but you can wait just a little longer. He is a grown adult, even if he really shouldn’t be left alone in the kitchen.

Sans eventually clears his throat. “I AM WILLING TO CONSIDER TODAY AS ANOTHER SUCCESSFUL TEST IN YOUR FAVOUR. CONGRATULATIONS.”

“Thanks.”

Just in time to celebrate, Papyrus returns with a heaping plate of cookies. You conveniently decide to ignore the fact that he is covered in sugary crumbs.

“ _bone_ appetite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can someone please give Sans a hug? And some therapy? Thanks.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	10. A Bowl of Popcorn and a Cuddle Buddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At certain times, fake dating Papyrus isn't too hard to do.

So far, this whole fake dating thing hasn't been _that_ bad. 

Sure, it can be more than a little awkward at times. Alphys and Undyne make sure of that. Overall, though, it is manageable. 

Like right now, for instance. Streaming countless episodes of one of those cooking shows starring contestants who don’t know the difference between a pot and a pan, your ‘date’ only requires you to sit with Papyrus and eat microwave popcorn.

Honestly, the only thing that makes this different than any other hangout with a friend is how close you sit together to convince Sans. Papyrus is almost in your lap, head half an inch away from blocking the view of the tv. If you were to guesstimate, about ninety percent of your cover is based on some mild PDA. Cuddling, the occasional hand holding… it really isn’t too bad. 

You mean, you have had close friends in the past who you have platonically cuddled with, usually when one of you were cold or tired. As for the hand holding, well… Papyrus’ hands are neat. It gives you an excuse to examine them up close. To see how the invisible magic keeps each individual bone together, almost like a magnetic field. To watch them move. Sure, the bones may not be that different than the ones in your own hands, but it fascinates you to no end to observe how it works without all the skin and muscle in the way.

Luckily, Papyrus doesn’t seem to mind you playing with his hands. Of course, it isn’t like he can’t retaliate if you annoy him; once, he very seriously placed his hands on your face, gently smushing your cheeks as he proclaimed, “squishy.” Which, when compared to bones, _is_ a valid statement.

Today, you decided to take your cover even further. That is your excuse, at least, for borrowing one of Papyrus’ hoodies. One of his softest, extra cozy hoodies… You have to be convincing, after all. 

“It’s like being hugged by a warm cloud,” you mumble, letting the long sleeves cover your hands completely.

“huh?”

“This.” You move your arm, allowing the excess fabric to flop in the air like a sad flag. “Where do you get these things?”

He shrugs. “oh, you know. the dump.”

You sit up a little straighter. “I’m sorry. You got this from the _what_?!”

From the kitchen, you can hear Sans snort, before returning to whatever Sanses do when their brothers are busy having a ‘date’ in the living room. Hopefully, nothing too sinister. It has been a while since he has mentioned any of his ‘tests’ to you, and you are hoping that he is giving it a break.

“the dump,” Papyrus repeats, a soft, amused smile blooming on his skull. “that’s where we used to get a lot of stuff from the surface. well, sans mostly. he didn’t like me going there alone. too dangerous,” he adds with a roll of his eye lights. “don’t worry; sans washed it.”

“I would hope so,” you say, a startled chuckle making its way out of you at his heartfelt reassurance.

Sans takes this moment to stroll in, carrying a briefcase. “WELL, I AM CERTAINLY GLAD TO SEE THAT _SOMEONE_ HAS STANDARDS IN CLEANLINESS.” He directs a pointed glare to his brother, who only rolls his eyes again. Even as a slight, brotherly jab, you can’t help but take it as a weird compliment. Hell, it is probably the nicest thing he has ever said to you. “NOW, IF YOU TWO WILL EXCUSE ME, I NEED TO RETURN TO WORK.”

Puzzled, you take your phone out of your borrowed hoodie, glancing at the time. “But it’s almost midnight.”

Sans turns his back to you to put on a suit jacket. You aren’t sure how you should interpret that: either way, he is implying that you aren’t a threat. The question is, is that because he legitimately believes that you mean him no harm, or is it because he is confident that, even if you wanted to harm him, he would still be able to take you on, no problem? “YES, WELL UNFORTUNATELY, TIME ZONES ARE A THING HERE ON THE SURFACE, AND THEY ARE EVER SUCH AN INCONVENIENCE WHILE DEALING WITH FOREIGN DIPLOMATS, BECAUSE _ANGEL FORBID_ THEY STAY UP LATER THEMSELVES.” 

Halfheartedly, you elbow Papyrus in the side. He stops his admittedly flawless imitation of his brother’s tirade, trading it in for an innocent expression. You press your lips tightly together, trying not to laugh at your friend’s antics. Based on the shit-eating grin plastered all over Papyrus’ face, you aren’t doing as well as you hoped.

“NOW, DON’T STAY UP TOO LATE, BROTHER. YOU ARE EXPECTED TO JOIN CHARA ON THEIR OUTING TOMORROW, AFTER ALL. AND YOU.” He turns back around, looking you straight in the eye with a heavy stare. “STAY OUT OF TROUBLE.” As soon as he grabs his keys, he is out the door.

Papyrus waits for the credits to start rolling, just seconds after Sans leaves, to turn and smile at you. “awwwwwwww.”

“What?”

“sans. he just mommed at you. see, he doesn’t hate you!”

You blink slowly. “Dude. I’m _pretty_ _sure_ that was another subtle threat.”

Papyrus nods agreeably. “see. total momming.” You are too tired to argue how messed up that is. Changing the subject, he shakes the metal bowl in your lap. A few unpopped kernels roll around, rattling loudly. “are we out of popcorn?”

“Yeah.” Suppressing a tired groan, you make your way to your feet. “Give me a minute.”

Your sleeve is given a firm tug. “i can do it!”

You consider accepting his offer, but the metaphorical flashback harp sounds. You are _still_ finding flour in weird places in your kitchen. And just the other day, you found Erwin sniffing old cookie dough that must have fallen off the ceiling. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like he ate any before you swept it into the trash. “ _Can_ you?” Papyrus opens his mouth, but you feel the need to clarify, “ _Without_ setting off the smoke detector?”

Flopping over to cover the couch in its entirety, he pouts, “you’re no fun.”

“Say that again when I come back with unburnt popcorn,” you call over your shoulder, already halfway to the microwave. 

Bowl overflowing with freshly seasoned, buttery popcorn, you pause right in front of the couch. 

Eye sockets shut, Papyrus looks so peaceful sprawled upon his couch, arms and legs dangling over the armrests. His gold tooth seems less stark against his bones with only the light from the television softening it. Sans’ reminder for him to get some sleep comes to mind. 

Decision made, you set down the bowl on the floor in order to unfold the blanket neatly draped on the couch to tuck him in. You consider grabbing one of the throw pillows, but decide against it; with your luck, you would wake him up by accident.

Not that your precaution does any good, however. As though he is roused by the scent of salty goodness, Papyrus raises his head, sniffing. His eye lights are fuzzy around the edges, visibly unfocused. He sits up, patting the space beside him until you sit down with the bowl between you. Immediately, he slumps down once more, wiggling until he is comfortable, using your lap as a pillow. “thanks,” he slurs, still half asleep. “you’re the best.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Absently, you run your hand over his skull. Despite his layers of clothing and now the heavy blanket, it is cool to the touch. Somehow, he melts even closer to you, as though his bones are no longer solid. In a way, it almost reminds you of cats and how they sometimes seem almost liquid in the way that they mold to a surface. The resemblance only increases when he makes a sound that you can only describe as purring.

A few minutes pass. As the cooking show progresses, it gets harder and harder to hear Papyrus purring. You can feel it though: the slight rumbling coming from deep in his ribcage, vibrating all the way up through his throat. It’s soothing, almost lulling you to sleep yourself.

A loud clattering onscreen ends the moment. One contestant dropped a glass bowl full of what was going to become ice cream. The noise disrupts both you and Papyrus, who jerks awake.

Settled a bit, he asks, “popcorn me?”

“I’m sure you could reach it yourself,” you scold, already grabbing him a handful. Happily, he munches on it, nearly shoving the whole thing in his mouth at once.

Mouth still full, he points at the screen, where the remaining contestants are anxiously bringing their desserts forward for the judges to try. “the one with the beard is gonna lose.”

“You sure about that? Blue bandana lady’s presentation looks _awful_.”

“yeah, but don’t forget about the other rounds.” Most of which he was asleep for, but whatever. “watch and weep.”

Much to your chagrin, Papyrus is correct.

“Hey,” you yawn, as blue bandana lady gives a touching victory speech, “wanna figure out what we should do for our next date?”

Papyrus echoes your yawn, sending you a dirty look. Your shoulders quirk the slightest bit upwards: what can you say? Yawns are contagious. “why not?”

Naturally, a silence falls between the two of you. Neither of you are too good at the whole ‘figure out date ideas that aren’t _too_ romantic so we don’t have to feel awkward about it’ thing. Sure, there are some basic ones. Tonight was a good example, of course. There is always the classic restaurant thing. However, there are only so many times you can go out for supper — especially to a ‘proper’ restaurant — before your collective bank accounts will start yelling. Same problem with going to see a movie, plus the added issue of there being a lack of movies that either of you want to see. As for dates that can take place at home… well, you would like to avoid those as much as possible. Spending so much time around Sans still makes you feel uncomfortable, and you would rather not implicate your roommate into this whole situation either.

The next episode ends up providing the idea. The host, while leading up to the first round’s theme, brings up outdoor eating. Consequently, he lists examples of such, including barbeques and picnics. Huh.

That could probably work.

“what ‘bout that?” Papyrus asks, just before you decide to mention it to him.

Personally, you can’t find any problems with the idea. A picnic is a pretty chill date, which is the best kind of date for people who aren’t actually dating. It will be nice and quiet, which should mean that Papyrus would feel more comfortable. Each of you could bring something to do, like a book, without it seeming weird. As long as you both stay in reasonably close proximity to each other, no one should question it. Plus, there will be food, which is an instant seller.

“Picnic it is,” you agree. “Does Wednesday after my shift work for you?” 

“yep.”

“Perfect. We can decide who’s bringing what later.”

Snuggling even closer to you under his blanket, he nods. “coolio.”

You indulge him with the cuddling. Honestly, you don’t mind. Besides, part of you thinks he desperately needs it. The way his body relaxes when you share any kind of affectionate touch… you honestly wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the guy is completely starved for it. After all, the Underground doesn’t seem like the ideal place for such a thing. Most touches, you would guess, would be threatening, a precursor to a fight.

Eventually, though, it has to come to an end. And not just because your legs are starting to fall asleep.

“Hey, Rus.” When he doesn’t respond, you resort to gently tapping his shoulder.

“whh?” He mumbles incomprehensibly, turning over.

You don’t stop. “Wake up.”

“don’ wanna.”

“Too bad. It’s getting late, and I should get going soon.” You may not have to go to work tomorrow, but you still have a lot of things that you need to do, which requires you getting a decent amount of sleep.

Papyrus twists his neck so he can look straight up at you with puppy eyes. “stay? you’re nice and warm.”

“So’s the blanket. And your bed.”

“ _please?_ just until i fall asleep again?”

Something about the way he said that weakens your resolve. “Fine. But you’d better show me where your guys’ coffee stash is.”

“can do.” 

You are about to thank him, when you see that special glint in his eye lights. Sighing, you say, “No, Papyrus.”

“i didn’t say anything!”

“Yeah, but I know you, my dude. I’m not letting Sans kill me in my sleep or some crap because I let you stay up all night consuming caffeine like oxygen.”

“i take back what i said about you being the best,” he pouts, crossing his arms under the blanket.

“Too late.” You start petting his skull again, watching as his frown shifts to a relaxed smile. The coffee can wait, you decide when he starts purring.

You may have never had a real crush before, but if it is anything like this, it can’t possibly be too bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cool fact: According to some research, cats purr at frequencies which are at a level that promotes bone growth and healing. Naturally, I decided to use this as validation for partaking in the headcanon of purring skeletons.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	11. An Invitation and a Slice of Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You receive a special invitation to the monster embassy.

Standing in front of his least favourite door of the embassy, Sans steels himself. He doesn’t want to be here, but what choice does he have? This is for his own good. For _Papyrus_ ’ good.

Before he can knock, he receives the command, “Come in, my child.”

He obeys.

 

* * *

 

The best thing about being scheduled mostly for afternoon and evening shifts at work has to be the fact that you can sleep in longer. Rubbing your eyes, you slowly inch yourself up to a mostly seated position to get a handle on your day. 

First off, you should probably figure out what time it is. 

Grabbing your phone, you can’t help but smile at the number of notifications cluttering the screen. Some texts, some dms and even an email, all from Papyrus. You open up your messaging app.

 **You:** Dude, how many times do we have to go through this? Get some sleep for once, you goof, and save the memes for the morning

 **You:** …

 **You:** Ok, I’ll admit it. The resemblance is uncanny

 **You:** Doesn’t mean it couldn’t wait until now, though

After perusing through everything that he sent you — and, oh boy, was there ever a lot of things, each one funnier than the last — your phone vibrates with a new message. This one, however, isn’t from your favourite bone boy.

 **XXX-XXX-XXXX:** BE CAREFUL.

 **XXX-XXX-XXXX:** SHE KNOWS.

Um… so that is more than a little bit ominous. More than the typical unknown number text, at least. Who is ‘she’ and what does she know that you have to be careful about? 

Unfortunately, you don’t have the time to investigate further. It is starting to get close to when your shift starts, and you still need to have a shower and eat some breakfast/lunch. Brunch, if you want to sound like a sophisticated adult who has their life together.

You arrive to work just barely on time. The joys of construction: messing up commute time since probably forever. Before you can even say hello to any of your coworkers, Brenda pulls you aside. Her eyes, which look even brighter than usual thanks to her matching moss-green sweater, are opened startlingly wide, almost bulging.

“Back of store. Now.”

“Okay?” Before you get the word out fully, she moves on ahead in a brisk power walk, bracelets jangling noisily. Following along, you try to figure out what on earth is happening that has her looking so frazzled. Although nearly dictatorial regarding store policies and employee behaviour, Brenda tends to exude an everlasting calmness. Today, that is not the case.

Brenda brings you in front of the door to the storage room. She grabs the doorknob, but doesn’t twist it open. “Be careful, okay? I don’t know why they’re here, but…” she trails off. “Just be careful.” Then, she ushers you inside. 

Behind you, the door closes. Brenda doesn’t join you.

As per usual, the first thing you see when you enter the room is a huge, grey filing cabinet, filled to the brim with the papers for orders, sales, inventory and who knows what else. The unusual part, however, is the two rabbit monsters standing side by side, decked out in the black, red and gold apparel of the queen’s court. The one nearest to you is holding an honest to goodness scroll, rolled up and everything!

Okay, you are starting to understand why Brenda was freaking out.

Handing you the scroll, the first monster says, “You have received a special invitation from Her Majesty, former Queen of all Monsterkind and current Head Matriarch of all Monsterkind, Toriel Dreemurr. She has most graciously requested that you come with me to meet with her at the embassy.”

“Now?!” You can’t go now! Besides the whole needing to work thing, you don’t feel physically or emotionally prepared to meet with a ruler. In your slightly ratty, dark jeans and plain t-shirt with a chocolate stain cleverly covered by your nametag, you don’t feel like you should even be stepping anywhere near the embassy, let alone meeting with a queen; as a rule of thumb, if something isn’t nice enough that you would have worn it for picture day when you were in school, it probably doesn’t pass for this. 

And setting the whole appearance thing to the side, Toriel’s… _reputation_ isn’t helping matters in the slightest. You would be meeting — likely alone — with someone who has personally killed humans. Who has killed _children_. Yes, it was the only way for her people to earn freedom, an act of desperation. Yes, she had offered to personally pay the consequences not only for her own actions, but also for the actions of her people. But you are still _scared_. 

How does she even know who you are? Why does she want to meet you? You don’t know the answers to these questions, and the only way to find out is to go.

You run your thumb over the blood red seal of the scroll. Beneath your finger, you can feel the smooth divots in the wax. The insignia of the embassy, symbol of all monsterkind. Perhaps, opening it would give you some kind of clue. Or perhaps not. Either way, your decision is made.

 

* * *

 

Sans paces around his office. Email after email appears in his inbox, his computer helpfully beeping to let him know. Papers sit in folders, waiting to be signed. All the while, the ambassador continues to pace.

How _dare_ she!

Why did Alphys feel the need to tell _her_? His brother’s personal life is not any of Toriel’s business! Now, _her_ interest is piqued, which means Papyrus is going to be involved. Again.

At this point, the only thing he can do is hope that you don’t fuck this up for Papyrus.

 

* * *

 

Sickeningly sweet. That is the best way to describe Queen Toriel.

The second you are brought to her private sitting room, the first thing you notice is the scent. Cloyingly sweet butterscotch and something else that you can’t quite place which becomes more and more overpowering the closer you get to her… 

As for the monster herself, she sits at a dainty table covered in all manners of lacy doilies. Tall and imposing, she smiles at you with wickedly sharp teeth. “Welcome, child. I was waiting for you to arrive. Come and sit down; you look simply exhausted.”

Biting back a remark about how that is just your face, thank you very much, you slowly make your way forward. You pass by countless framed pictures of monsters in striped shirts lined up in rows with a regally smiling Toriel standing in the back right corner. Class photos, you soon realise. Behind her, you notice a familiar photograph, greying with age. It had been on the news countless times when monsters first arrived on the Surface. Toriel, the exiled king, and their two children, one monster and one human. If you squint, you can see the gold plaque on the bottom of the frame: ‘The future of humans and monsters’. It is the sole decoration on that wall. 

Seated at the table, you feel even smaller than before. It makes her calling you ‘child’ seem strangely appropriate, as much as it makes you need to suppress a cringe. Craning your neck so that you can look her in the eye, you force a pleasant(ish) expression onto your face. Thank goodness for working customer service. “It’s… nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she responds, diadem glittering as she tilts her head ever so slightly, politely acknowledging your presence. “I so deeply regret that we couldn’t have done this sooner. Ah well, that is life. Now, how big of a slice would you like?”

Your brain buffers, trying to comprehend the non sequitur. “I’m sorry?”

With a graceful sweep of her arm, Toriel gestures to a pie in the middle of the table. Steam rises from the top. “My homemade, cinnamon-butterscotch pie,” she says, speaking slowly as if to a child. “I would rather not make any foolish assumptions. You are young, but you might have recently eaten, so I am not sure how hungry you are. I would prefer not to waste any. How big of a slice?”

“Uh…” From the sounds of it, you really don’t have much choice in the matter. But, hey, what else is new? It isn’t like you really had much choice in coming here today. A slice of pie is simply the cherry on top of the ‘you didn’t sign up for this’ sundae. “A small one, please.” 

“Of course, my child.” She picks up a gleaming silver knife, positioning it carefully over the pie. Cleanly, it cuts through crust and filling with a single, fluid slice. You try to not think about the damage that thing could inflict on things other than baked goods. “Like so?” Toriel asks, demonstrating the slice size with her knife. It is at least twice the size you were envisioning. Still, you nod your assent.

“Thank you,” you manage to murmur despite the anxious knot growing rapidly in your throat. The smell of butterscotch is even stronger now. “It, uh, smells delicious.”

This, seemingly, is the right thing to say. The queen’s expression softens, making her appear a bit less fierce. A bit. “Thank you. It’s my own recipe, you know.”

“Interesting,” you remark, but the way your voice turns up, it might as well be a question. Slicing off a small bite from the point using the side of your fork, you watch her carefully. You aren’t exactly sure what it is that you should be watching for; it just seems like it is a good idea. Toriel simply keeps her steady gaze, waiting for you to take a bite.

Well. Here goes nothing.

“This… is really good,” you admit, somewhat surprised with how much you are actually enjoying it. The sweetness of the butterscotch is nicely tempered by the mild spice of cinnamon, maybe some cloves as well. The texture melts in your mouth, not just because of it being magic based. Yet, the crust isn’t soggy, unable to support the pie. It has a proper crispness to it.

“I’m glad you enjoy it. Now,” she says conversationally, folding her hands on the table, a steely glint in her eyes, “I recently was made aware of the fact that _my_ judge is courting a human, and that the lucky human is you.” 

Your blood runs cold. 

Something about the way that she claimed Papyrus as her own — assuming she means Papyrus when she said ‘my judge’, but who else would she be talking about, unless there is some other monster who happens to be dating a human, which you doubt, and this is all one big mistake — just hits you the wrong way. She speaks as though he is a possession, something to be owned. Not like he is the wonderful, albeit a little dorky, person you know him to be.

You don’t know how you are supposed to respond. You know how you _want_ to respond, but ripping her a new one probably isn’t the best option. It is tempting, though. 

In the end, you decide on a non-committal “mhm,” and take another bite of pie. Vague, but it is better than nothing. 

“Well, you both have my congratulations. It is good to see humans getting along with monsters.” A strange expression dawning upon her face, she turns to the photo behind her. “Just like the old days.”

Oh.

Oh man.

And to think that you thought you were having trouble responding before. What are you supposed to say now that she has brought up her dead kids? 

The answer you go with is nothing; rather, you take another bite of pie, bigger this time. How unfortunate it is that eating with your mouth full is considered to be rude. Honestly, such a tragedy. 

You can only hope that the slice lasts throughout the entirety of this meeting. If not, you will need seconds, and you honestly aren’t sure if you are hungry enough to manage that.

Toriel sighs. “Ah, well, we mustn’t dwell on the past when we have so much to look forward to in the future. Isn’t that right?”

“Sure?”

Ignoring your hesitation, Toriel says, “I’m glad you agree.” She pauses, raising her hands and tapping her fingers together in a thoughtful manner. “You know, your example could be really beneficial to the monster population.”

“What?” Okay, that was a bit loud. Whoops. You clear your throat and amend your startled statement with the more polite, “I’m sorry?”

“You are forgiven.” Somehow, that doesn’t sound as condescending as it should be. “What I mean to say is that showcasing your relationship with Papyrus on a large scale would be a great move forward in human-monster relations.”

“But I don’t want to showcase my relationship with him on a large scale!” It is hard enough showcasing it to the handful of people you know. How on earth would you manage to maintain the lie for hundreds, thousands, possibly even _millions_ of people?

Toriel reaches across the table to pat your hand. Her fur is soft, silky to the touch. “I understand, my child. Truly, I do. It can be difficult being in the limelight. Stressful. However, we all must make sacrifices. Such is life, unfortunately.”

Standing up, she starts walking around the room, practically gliding. “The thing you must remember is how this is for the good of monsterkind. For the good of your boyfriend. You have seen how _other_ humans treat monsters; it is impossible not to. The contempt, the hatred, the fear. They only take into account our less than pleasant history and consider us as nothing but lesser beings, savages undeserving and incapable of empathy.”

Standing in front of you once more, she smiles warmly. “However, people can learn from positive examples. From _your_ example. Seeing you, together with Papyrus, they can learn the truth about my people. It would help normalise our coexistence.”

The thing is, it makes sense. Monkey see, monkey do, right? And you _like_ the idea of helping monsters out. Sure, they have received lots of other aid from charities and such. However, there is admittedly a difference between people helping out of pity or to better their own reputation and actually wanting to help. You know of people who were all up with the cause at first, only to fall away. As time went by, those same people started to complain about monsters. They feared about monster violence ruining their neighbourhoods. You have even heard about people making their kids switch schools because a monster child started attending. Heck, you even remember that day in the park with Papyrus, the way the woman practically ran away when she realised he was a monster. And you hated it. You still hate it.

So, yeah, you would love to normalise the coexistence between humans and monsters. There is one problem, though.

You don’t think you can do it. Not in this way.

Straight up telling Toriel ‘no’ is something you don’t think you can do. “I’ll… I’ll consider it.”

In a quarter of a second, her warm, welcoming expression shifts to a disappointed frown. “... I see.”

The air around you is heavy. Tense. Guilt piling up in your soul, you start to stammer out your excuses. The stream of words comes to a choppy halt when she lifts a hand.

“I understand. It would be unwise for you to rush into such an important decision. And I imagine that you would like to discuss the matter with Papyrus.” Gesturing for you to rise, she continues, “Take some time to think it over. When you have reached your decision, I’ll have you let Sans know so he can help arrange another meeting between us. Until then, my child.”

“Until then,” you echo.

Hopefully, ‘then’ is a long, long ways away.

 

* * *

 

Sans cannot help but sigh in relief when he hears you walk past his office door, undoubtedly escorted by the same guards that brought you here. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Her Majesty; he does. He has to. Because of her influence, he and his brother survived a bit easier during those last few years Underground. Even now, she allows him to maintain a high position, making it less difficult to provide for Papyrus in these trying times for monsters as a whole. 

Besides, Toriel wouldn’t be negligent enough to do something that would endanger herself — and consequently, monsterkind. The treaties are quite strict about how monsters interact with humans. If word got out that Head Matriarch Toriel attacked a human, consequences would be dire, diplomatic immunity be damned. 

It would ruin _everything_ that they had worked for since reaching the Surface.

Saving his work, he switches over to view security footage as you leave the building. Call him a paranoid bastard — angel knows that Alphys does like she didn’t encourage Undyne to place cameras _everywhere_ , Underground and on the Surface — but he would like to assess the situation to the best of his ability. Or, to the best of his ability without seeming overly suspicious. 

You don’t seem traumatised. You looked worse off after his little visit when he first found out about you being Papyrus’ datemate. Ah, that was certainly a time. Watching fear build as you realised that he meant business… it was strangely nostalgic. Just like back in Snowdin.

Satisfied, he returns to task. For now, at least, there is no looming danger. That is as good as it gets.

 

* * *

 

Half sprawled out on your coach, half on your lap, Papyrus tosses a jelly bean in the air and tries to catch it in his mouth. Emphasis on _tries_ ; it plunks off his cheekbone and rolls onto the couch. Scowling slightly, he picks it up and pops it in his mouth. The scowl disappears the instant the sugar enters his body. “anything interesting happen today?”

You should really tell him about your meeting with Toriel. But you really don’t want to. Not today.

For the first time since meeting him, the dark circles under his eyes are barely noticeable, like he has actually gotten a proper amount of sleep for once in his life. At the store, he was chatty, even with people other than you. Almost no nervous fidgeting, or at least not that you could notice. Even now, he seems calm enough to fall asleep, and it is a good question as to who is purring louder: the skeleton lying down on you, or the cat lying down on the skeleton.

You just don’t have it in you to ruin all this by worrying him.

Handing him some more jelly beans — conveniently, they are your least favourite flavours — you tell him, “Well, not interesting so much as weird, but there was this one dude who came in to work and bought a nose flute despite the fact that he has no nose.”

“that was me, you asshole!” Papyrus exclaims, mock offended. “maybe it was for a friend.”

“Was it?”

“... no.”

“Then my point stands.” Shoving any guilt over hiding the queen’s proposal from him deep, deep down, you ask, “Got any new jokes for me?”

“for you, always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me I'm not the only one who has the panicked response of shoving more food in my mouth if conversations go awkward. It is honestly one of my go-tos.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	12. A Letter and a Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get some nerve-inducing updates regarding your "relationship" with Papyrus.

You are a coward.

Well, coward might be a bit harsh. A chicken, perhaps. Scaredy-pants could probably also work, as juvenile as it sounds. 

The point is, it has been a few weeks since you met with Toriel, and you still haven’t gotten anywhere near mentioning it to Papyrus. 

It isn’t like you have been lacking in occasions. You have had ample opportunity to let him know that, hey, the Queen of Monsterkind kinda wants the two of you to go public with your relationship as some sort of human-monster power couple, despite the fact that you still aren’t actually a couple at all, so just a heads-up. Yet, you just can’t bring yourself to mentioning it.

You just can’t.

You are in the middle of washing the dishes Sunday after lunch when you hear a knock at the door. Quickly, you dry off your hands. On a cold, drizzly day like today, you don’t want to let anyone stay outside on your doorstep longer than needed.

“Hello?” 

But when you open the door, there is no one there.

Weird.

Well, you might as well get back to work. It must have been a kid messing around or something. 

As you are returning to the kitchen, Erwin darts past your feet. You think nothing of it; he probably just has the zoomies. When something rams into your ankle, however, the small cat captivates your attention.

“What is it?” you ask as he headbutts your leg again. And again. You reach down to pet him, hoping that is what he is after. 

Satisfied with your affections he runs off again, only to return with something in his mouth. Not a dead mouse this time, so it doesn’t bother you as much when he proudly lays it at your feet.

Huh. You don’t remember there being any envelopes out around the house today. In fact, you don’t think you _own_ any envelopes, and you doubt your roommate does either. 

When you flip the envelope to the front, your heart drops.

This.

This is embassy mail.

Queen Toriel must have decided you were taking too long to reach a decision. What if she decided to make it for you? You aren't ready to be some kind of poster child! There is no way you can keep this charade up that long. Oh crap! What happens when you and Papyrus finally arrange your break up? Will you even be allowed? The last thing you need is to get yourself into some kind of arranged marriage for politics.

Closing your eyes, you prepare yourself for the inevitable. Surely, you and Papyrus will find a way to manage. The sound of the envelope being torn open seems deafening in the quiet of your house. There is something awful yet poetic about it: as you break the seal of the envelope, you are in fact sealing your fate.

Gradually, you open one eye, then the other. Might as well get it over with.

You read the message. Then, a second time. And a third, relief flooding through you.

 

_PAPYRUS’ HUMAN,_

_LET ME START BY SAYING CONGRATULATIONS._

_YOU HAVE IMPRESSED ME WITH YOUR DEDICATION TO MY BROTHER AND YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM. TO DATE, YOU HAVE PASSED EACH OF MY TESTS WITH FLYING COLOURS._

_I WOULD LIKE YOU TO COME TO MY HOUSE THIS AFTERNOON. AT PRECISELY 2:00 PM, YOU WILL COMMENCE MY FINAL TEST._

_RESPECTFULLY,_

_AMBASSADOR SANS OF SNOWDIN, SECOND IN COMMAND OF QUEEN TORIEL DREEMURR’S ROYAL GUARD_

_P.S._

_MY BROTHER WILL BE HOME ALL DAY, SO HE CAN LET YOU IN._

 

It’s just Sans. Not so long ago, he would have been the last person you would have wanted to receive messages from, especially messages concerning those cryptic tests. But now, with the queen all up in your business… there are certainly worse options, you have to say.

Glancing at the clock, you decide to head over now. It gives you an excuse to let the rest of the dishes soak for a few more hours. Besides, you have a feeling you will need some emotional support from Papyrus before facing the test.

Nervousness only starts to show up as you are walking up to his doorstep. This is the first and only time you have been made aware of one of Sans’ tests in advance, and you have no idea what you should be expecting. At least in the past, he would sometimes tell you about your success, so you weren’t actually able to worry about it. Now, however, you know it is coming. 

And there is nothing you can do in preparation but wait for the inevitable. 

Right away, Papyrus opens the door. As in, you don’t even get the chance to knock or anything before he opens the door. Unless he was standing right at the door, which seems somewhat unlikely, the only way he could he could get there that fast is if he had teleported or something. Although, he did mention something about being good at shortcuts when you had asked how he got in your house that one time without you noticing… huh.

Either way, the surprised expression which makes its way across his face before shifting to a delighted grin makes it all worth it.

“oh, hey! come in. i’ve just heated up some breakfast burgers if you want to share and or revel in my accomplishments as a functional adult.”

Puzzled, you frown. “What exactly makes a burger a breakfast burger?” Are the buns made of pancakes, maybe? Perhaps eggs are involved. You need to know.

Moving to the side to let you in, he explains, “if you eat it in the morning, it’s automatically a breakfast food.”

“Dude,” you say flatly. “It’s like one in the afternoon.”

He just shrugs. “close enough. i woke up ten minutes ago, ‘kay? the point is, be proud that i shoved it in the microwave instead of just consuming it.”

Good point. “Congrats, I guess?”

“thanks. you want some?”

You shake your head. “I’m good, thanks. Go crazy with the breakfast burgers. Live your best life.”

“gotcha.” Walking towards the kitchen, he pauses halfway there. He creates a bone, long and blunt, and knocks on the ceiling with it. “hear that, bro?” Papyrus yells. “ _someone_ supports my life decisions.”

“ALL I SAID WAS THAT YOU SHOULD TRY TO EAT A FRUIT OR VEGETABLE FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, _PAPYRUS_ ,” Sans shouts back. “AND A SINGLE SLICE OF TOMATO DOESN’T COUNT.”

“He’s right, you know.”

Sockets wide in horror, Papyrus backs away from you. “you’re ganging up on me.”

“Yes,” you say with a smirk, “be very afraid. One of these days, we will hunt you down and force you to eat a salad.”

Affronted, he places a hand to his chest. “you traitor! you’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Just grab your burgers already before they get cold, you big baby.”

“right!” You can’t help but stare in shock as he blips out of sight. 

How? How did he?

Did you just see what you think you saw?

Papyrus. He just. Gone.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH, WOULD YOU, BEFORE A FLY GETS IN.” You obey, turning to see where Sans has appeared at the top of the stairs. He is wearing a suit of armour. Oh god, don’t let the final test be some kind of duel against Sans. “NOW WHAT IS IT THAT HAS YOU GAPING LIKE A GUPPY?”

“Papyrus. He…” With your hands, you mime an explosion. “Poof.”

Immediately, he starts sprinting down the stairs. “DON’T TELL ME HE SET HIMSELF ON FIRE AGAIN!”

Wait: _again?_ No, not right now. “That’s not what I meant! It’s just, he —”

“i what?”

You shriek, an embarrassingly high sound, when you realise he has suddenly popped back beside you, standing elbow to elbow as he munches on a burger. “ _That!_ ”

“what?” Browbone creased, he examines you carefully, as though he will be able to find answers within the pupils of your eyes. Then again, his next words make that surprisingly plausible. “oh, right. that. you remember when i mentioned my shortcuts? well…” Disappearing from your right side, he reappears on your left and taps your shoulder. “tada! shortcut.”

Sans’ sockets narrow. “BROTHER.”

“yeah?”

“AM I UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT YOUR DATEMATE IS _STILL_ UNAWARE OF YOUR SHORTCUTS?”

“well, they know now,” he says defensively.

“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.” Sans turns to you. “IS IT TRUE?”

“Kinda? I guess?”

“INTERESTING.” Hands held firmly behind his back, he moves forwards towards Papyrus. Instinctively, you find yourself cowering out of the way; Sans is intimidating enough on a normal day, let alone when he has a whole black knight aesthetic going on. “BROTHER, I DON’T KNOW WHETHER I AM MORE PROUD OR MORE DISAPPOINTED IN YOU.”

“What?”

Sans ignores you. “I KNOW THE RULES ARE DIFFERENT UP HERE, BUT IT’S… REASSURING. THAT YOU STILL KEEP OUR ADVANTAGES HIDDEN, I MEAN. HOWEVER,” he continues, shaking a finger scoldingly, “TRUST AND COMMUNICATION ARE ESSENTIAL COMPONENTS TO A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP. IF YOU CANNOT HAVE THESE THINGS WITH YOUR DATEMATE, THERE IS NO POINT IN YOU BEING TOGETHER.”

Even though you technically aren’t the one being reprimanded, your gut twists uncomfortably. You may not be in a romantic or a sexual relationship like Sans is undoubtedly talking about, but a friendship is still a type of relationship. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to be honest about the Toriel thing. 

The worst part is, you swear you can feel Sans’ gaze sweeping over to you. Like he knows.

“WELL, ENOUGH CHIT CHAT. HUMAN. ARE YOU READY TO BEGIN?”

Without looking at a clock, you know it isn’t officially time yet. Given the choice between waiting and getting it over with, though, the better choice is clearly to get it over with. Procrastinating on this will only prolong the anxiety.

Here goes nothing.

With your hesitant nod, Sans marches you outside and starts laying down the rules.

“THIS IS A MULTI-STEP TEST FOLLOWING THE CENTURIES-OLD MONSTER TRADITION OF PUZZLE SOLVING.” He gestures to the backyard. “THE PUZZLES ARE LIMITED TO THE CONFINES OF OUR OUTDOOR PROPERTY. PAPYRUS, AS YOUR DATEMATE, IS PERMITTED TO WATCH, BUT CANNOT PARTICIPATE OR ASSIST IN ANY WAY. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Yeah.”

“BROTHER, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? NO CHEATING.”

You turn around to see Papyrus standing behind you, arms crossed. “got it.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.

“EXCELLENT.” Gaze fixed on you and Papyrus, he walks over to a small patio table. On it, you can see a small slip of paper, which is promptly handed over to you. “HERE IS THE FIRST PART OF YOUR PUZZLE. THE TEST BEGINS NOW.”

You unfold the paper. And again. And — who would have guessed it — again. By the time the stupid thing is opened completely, the thought of giving up on the test seems very tempting. It isn’t like you are actually dating Papyrus; what is the point in suffering through this? You can tell Sans the truth, and everything will be —

“CHOP CHOP, HUMAN. TIME IS TICKING. AND I HIGHLY DOUBT YOU WILL LIKE WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU DO NOT COMPLETE EVERYTHING WITHIN THE TIME LIMIT.”

— fine? Okay, maybe not so much.

Thanks to that little surge of panic, you are feeling a bit more motivated to continue.

At first glance, the paper you are holding appears to be blank. Even holding it up to the sun to get the best lighting possible, you can’t see anything. There is absolutely nothing.

That can’t be. This is a puzzle, right? You must be missing something. 

Could it be some kind of invisible ink? You have some vague memories of making some at home when you were a kid. Lemon juice was how you made it visible, you think. Or was lemon juice one of the ingredients? Either way, you remember getting lemon juice in a paper cut and having to delay the project for a few minutes. Ouch. 

Not that it would do you much good even if you could remember how you made the ink. Sans has made it clear that you are to stay outside, which would imply you are limited to whatever resources you have right now. Which isn’t much.

Your arms are starting to tire. Honestly, good lighting probably isn’t going to make a difference. You lower the paper.

Wait a minute.

Are you imagining things now, or can you actually see something? Please, let you actually be seeing something!

Faintly, you can make out some small shadows, nearly imperceptible if you weren’t paying attention. There are grooves in the paper, like it had been sitting under another paper which had been written upon. You still struggle to make anything out, but you now know that _something_ is there.

Around the edge of the house, there is a neat row of flowers. Unwilling to waste any more time on this first step, you run over and grab some soil from the top. Sans makes a sound of disgust as you rub the dirt onto the paper, but the joke's on him: you can actually read what it says now.

“Rings without fingers. Leaves but stays nearby. Hiding down below our feet, but seen by looking high. On a hot day, I give you a cool seat. Come sit there now and find what you seek.” You finish your reading, looking over to Sans. “Is this a freaking riddle?”

“UH-UH,” he says, smiling smugly, “NO HINTS, REMEMBER?”

In other words, yes, it is a freaking riddle.

Well, you might as well get comfortable while you figure this out. You consider just sitting on the steps of the back porch, but swiftly change your mind; there is a small bench under their tree which is not only closer to you, but also farther away from Sans.

Your butt touches the bench for a millisecond. As soon as you start sitting down, Sans screeches, “HOW DID YOU FIGURE IT OUT SO QUICKLY?”

“Huh?” You look back down at the paper, then at the tree behind you. “Oh.”

 _Rings_ without fingers. Like, tree rings. _Leaves_ but stays nearby. That one is pretty self explanatory. Tree roots are hidden underground, but the trunk and branches reach above your head. It may not be too hot out today, but if it was, the shade it provides would be wonderful. 

_Come sit there now and find what you seek._

That was easier than you were expecting. Thanks, Sans, for accidentally giving you the answer.

You reach under the stone bench. Most likely, your next clue is under there. 

Sure enough, the side of your finger hits against something hard. Once you get down on your hands and knees, you can see a tiny switch that has been glued on the underside of the bench. 

Eyes closed, you flip the switch. Hopefully, you didn’t just do something stupid and set off a bomb. The lack of explosion sounds seems promising; all you heard was a soft click.

“bro, when did you have the time to install this?”

“IT’S AMAZING WHAT ONE CAN GET DONE WHEN ONE DOESN’T NAP FOR EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF TIME.”

A long suffering sigh is Papyrus’ reply. 

Opening your eyes, you see a series of electric blue X’s which have popped up on the lawn. Which, okay then? That is certainly a thing. Logistically speaking, though, how does that even work?

Not important. Right now, you should probably figure out their purpose.

Papyrus ends up beating you to the punch. “uh, sans?”

“YES, BROTHER?”

“remember what chara said? humans don’t know how to work these things.”

Sans coughs. “RIGHT.” He leaves his spot of supervision to come join you. “STEPPING ON EACH TILE CHANGES IT.” His foot taps on one in the corner to demonstrate. Right away, the X changes to a bright red circle. “EACH TILE CAN ONLY BE PRESSED ONCE, OR YOU WILL NEED TO RESTART. TO MOVE ON, ALL THE TILES WILL HAVE TO BE SWITCHED TO O’S.”

This seems relatively easy. _Almost too easy_ , you think grimly to yourself, stepping forward. _There must be some catch._

“OH YES, I ALMOST FORGOT.” Large pillars of bone — too tall for you to step over or jump — rise up in the empty spaces between the tiles. “IT IS UNFORTUNATELY TOO EARLY TO RELY ON SNOW POFF BARRIERS.”

And there’s the catch. So, it looks like you have to plan this out a bit, so you don’t get stuck in the middle or step on anything twice.

Well, here goes nothing.

 

* * *

 

From his spot leaning against a post of the porch, Papyrus sends his best menacing glare to his brother. Unfortunately, the tall looming presence thing doesn’t work so good when the other person is a stubborn jackass who has known him since he was a babybones and has photos of him in sticker-covered footie pyjamas. He can still try, though.

Stars above, does he ever want to give you a hint, to help you along. Sans is the type to pull out all the stops with his puzzles and traps, after all; back in Snowdin, there were too many criminals who chose a quick execution over being subjected to these things. 

But here you are, a human, trying your damnedest. A little wrinkle has formed between your eyebrows, just as you get whenever you are thinking too hard. You take your time between each move, thinking it through. Your tongue is even sticking out slightly as you concentrate.

Sans had better be impressed with you.

Speaking of Sans, Papyrus _still_ can’t believe that his brother did this. Well, actually, he sort of can. Being overprotective is kind of his m.o. It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though, at times like this. Especially when you don’t deserve to bear the brunt of it. 

At least Sans decided to go with bone barriers this time. Papyrus would take that over the electric maze inspired barrier fields any day.

For at least the fourth time, you stomp back to the bench to reset the puzzle. As you return, Papyrus notices something in your expression. Not just frustration, although there is a lot of that. No, there is something else. Something somewhat familiar, but undeniable human.

Determination.

Sheer determination is how you are going to get passed this test, for better or for worse.

 

* * *

 

Fascinating.

Your ability to do puzzles? To put it simply, if they were all still Underground, Sans would have been able to give Her Majesty your soul at least half an hour ago.

At the very least, your perseverance is quite admirable. Truly, there is no doubt as to your level of commitment to Papyrus. In fact, if he so desired, Sans could call the whole test to an end. He has his results.

But where is the honour in that? 

It would stop Papyrus from acting so petulantly, of course. His brother has made his opinion on the matter exceedingly clear. But at the end of the day, Sans refuses to sacrifice Papyrus’ personal safety in favour of his comfort.

Never again.

Never again.

 

* * *

 

There isn’t a single X in sight.

In front of you is a platform, raised a few inches higher than everything else. You hop onto it. Instantly, all the red circles turn a vibrant green.

“WELL DONE,” Sans says, golf clapping. The bones pillars fade away in a crackling of magic while he approaches. “YOU ARE NOW READY FOR THE LAST STEP OF THE TEST.” He pulls out another piece of paper and a pencil. “GOOD LUCK.”

“Thanks.” Considering how you have stumbled your way through everything else, you are going to need it. The need only increases when you try to read the paper, squinting heavily. “Nos _what_?”

“HUMAN, ARE YOU COMPLETELY UNAWARE OF THE TASK THAT IS THE JUNIOR JUMBLE? SUCCESSFULLY UNSCRAMBLE THE LETTERS, AND YOU WILL WIN.”

 _Junior_ jumble? You don’t even want to think about what the regular jumble looks like if this is the junior version. A mess of vowels and consonants stare up at you, ready to be decoded: ‘NOSGTRANALOCIUT! OYU AER HROWYT FO NDGTIA RAPUPSY!’

Okay. The first word is total nonsense, but the next one can only be ‘you’, right? Using the convenient lines underneath each word, you scrawl that in. The next word is just as short, and even though there are a few more options of what it could be, the most logical answer would have to be ‘are’. And ‘fo’ isn’t a word as far as you know, which means the only other rearrangement is ‘of’. 

Already, you have almost half the words. Now comes the trial and error part.

The next several minutes are spent with you scribbling out different orders of letters until it looks like an actual word. It is a slow process. Especially for the first word. 

You can feel the pressure of eye lights on you. Without looking, you know that one set is hopeful and encouraging. Needless to say, that set does not belong to Sans. The ones that are making you feel more and more stressed by the second, however, are definitely his.

Aha! You’ve got another word.

‘NOSGTRANALOCIUT! YOU ARE HROWYT OF DATING RAPUPSY!”

Wait a minute.

Clarity comes with the suddenness of rain in spring. “‘Congratulations! You are worthy of dating Papyrus!’?”

“INDEED YOU ARE!” Sans exclaims as Papyrus lets out an excited whoop. “YOU PASSED! NOW COME ON INSIDE, AND WE CAN HAVE SOME DESSERT TO CELEBRATE.” 

He goes off, presumably to get the food ready. Papyrus stays behind, waiting for you to stand up and brush off your jeans. “Whoa!”

“thought you should be brought inside like a champion.” And, apparently, in his mind, champions are brought inside via surprise piggyback. “‘sides, i thought you’d appreciate being tall for once in your life. hey!”

You hold on tight as he suddenly lurches to the side; flicking the skull of the guy who is carrying you up a small set of stairs _probably_ isn’t the best idea. “Hey, careful!”

Pausing, he looks up at the porch roof, which is _way_ too close to your head. “huh. i guess champions have to go inside using their own legs.”

“Yup.”

“do you want some victory music? i’ve got a kazoo.”

Of course he does. Curious to see what constitutes as victory music, you nod. His face lights up, and he reaches into his hoodie pocket for a lime green kazoo.

And if there is something to make your efforts this afternoon worth it, well… seeing Sans’ begrudgingly amused face when Papyrus kicks open the door blaring the John Cena theme on his kazoo is definitely it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final test: success  
> Achievement unlocked: Sans' approval (and possibly friendship?)
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	13. A Double Date and a Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphys and Undyne are scheming. Naturally, you and Papyrus become involved, like it or not.

“Hey, do you know what would be fun?”

You pause in your sit-ups — this week’s particular brand of workout based torture — and look up skeptically at your friend.

Why is it that you _already_ have a bad feeling about this, despite Alphys not having said anything. Oh right, it is because this is _Alphys_ , whose ideas somehow almost always end up with you regretting something.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to leave her hanging, so you ask, “What?”

“If we went on a date this weekend.”

In shock, you sit up far too quickly. Ow. Thankfully, Alphys must have leaned back from her position of holding your feet flat against the floor. You have gone (literally and metaphorically) head-to-head against her enough to know that it would have only added to your pain. Those bright yellow scales of hers are freaking tough!

“I have a lot of questions. First off, _what?!_ And next, let me repeat, _WHAT?!_ ”

Across the gym, some really buff guy lifting weights gives you a weird look. It looks like you were a bit louder than you thought. Apologetically, you give him an awkward wave. He just sets down his barbell and puts on a pair of wireless headphones. That works for you.

Unlike the random dude, Alphys is unaffected by your shrieking. Which is fairly impressive, actually, considering how she is only a few inches away from you. Bluntly, she looks you in the eye and states, “You heard me.”

Her coolness to the whole situation only adds to your bafflement. “But you’re in a relationship! And I thought you said I wasn’t your type!”

“Fuck no,” she scoffs. “Besides, last time I checked, I’m not the only one in a relationship, Spot.” 

Her eye narrows suspiciously, which prompts you into responding. “... right. Yeah. I knew that.”

… 

In retrospect, you probably aren’t helping your case.

Luckily, Alphys doesn’t call you out on your sketchiness. You are less lucky, however, when Alphys affectionately punches your shoulder. You pity anyone who has the misfortune to earn one of her unfriendly punches.

“I wasn’t talking about us going out one-on-one, pink. You wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

God, she needs to stop saying things like that. It keeps on painting vivid mental images that you don’t want to think about. 

Back beginning to become sore from being bent weirdly in your half-completed sit-up  for the past few minutes, you lie back on your yoga mat. Squinting against the bright fluorescent lighting fixtures, you say, “Then, please. Explain. With actual words that make sense, this time.”

“I was talking about a double date, dumb-ass. You know, me and Undyne as a couple do something along with you and Papyrus as a couple.”

You do another sit-up just so you get within reach to give Alphys an irritated smack on the arm. “I know what a double date is, you jerk.”

“Had to make sure, punk,” she grins unapologetically. More subdued — which should honestly be a warning sign right there — she continues, “Look, it doesn’t have to be anything too out there. Sans said you and the mutt don’t really do a lot of fancy dates, so we keep it low-key if you want.” Ugh. Why did he have to do that? “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please,” she says, something in her expression telling you that she knows she has already won. “For ‘Dyne. When she’s not at home, she spends all her time holed up in the old lab by herself.”

“I thought you said she just got another intern?”

“Yeah, but that’s an _intern_. Plus, she just gives them less important stuff while she does the hard stuff.” Alphys’ voice goes soft with admiration in the way it only does when talking about her girlfriend. “Is it too much to try and help her get some more friends? She already kinda knows your boyfriend, and it’d be good if she could get to know you better!”

Now her victorious expression makes a lot more sense. ‘Please’ aside, using Undyne like that against you is dirty pool, even if she truly does want the best for her.

“I’ll talk to Rus about it.” And if most of that talking is the two of you brainstorming a good excuse _not_ to go, well… Alphys doesn’t need to know.

“Good,” Alphys nods, satisfied. “Now stop dawdling, and finish your set.”

“I hate you so much,” you grumble under your breath. At times like this, it is like she forgets that you didn’t sign up for her to be a drill sergeant.

Alphys snorts. Clearly, you weren’t as quiet as you thought you were. “No you don’t. You just hate the exercise.”

Sighing, you keep going and admit, “You’re right.”

“Damn right, I am. Now, have I told you about the soundtrack to this new show Undyne and I are watching? It fucking slaps!”

 

* * *

 

“‘dyne! ‘m here!”

Papyrus suppresses a shudder as he stands in the middle of the main floor of the Hotland labs; something about them have always given him the heebie-jeebies. Some of it is probably from the reputation Undyne earned in her experiments dealing with the Fallen, but there’s something else, too. 

All he knows is that it’s worse now. The overall creepiness of the place has increased with the rest of the Underground being empty. His periosteum prickles weirdly, almost like pseudo goosebumps covering his entire body.

One of Undyne’s many surveillance screens lights up. “Give me a minute,” she says, voice crackling through the dusty speakers.

Great. Just what he wanted to do. Uneasily, he pulls at the top of his sweater. At least there’s air conditioning here. Hotland _sucks_.

Wishing he could have done whatever help Undyne asked him to come here for from the comfort and safety of his home, Papyrus shifts on his feet. “you know,” he says lightly, trying to mask any signs of nervousness, “if you called me for some elaborate scheme to harvest my organs, i hate it to break it to you, but there’s a flaw in your plan.”

Bustling into the room with what he affectionately calls her mad scientist toolbox, Undyne scowls as she pushes a rebellious strand of cadmium red hair behind her ear fins. “Shut up, P-Papyrus.” Her words bear no heat, more of a distracted muttering than anything else.

“nice to see you too.” With Undyne here, he feels comfortable enough to go and lean against the wall. “so… what’s the occasion?”

Undyne blinks, her eyes magnified behind her thick glasses. Arms crossed, Papyrus taps his fingers on his other arm, waiting.

Then, “I’m g-guessing you’re not going to believe me if I say I b-brought you here for the shitty comedy?”

Dramatically, he clutches at his chest, right above his soul. “you’ve been spending too much time in hotland, ‘dyne; that was a sick _burn_.”

Undyne rolls her eyes and scoffs disdainfully, like she doesn’t actually love the memes he has always sent her over the Undernet. “Like I s-said. Shitty comedy.” But there is still a toothy smile creeping its way on her face, so who’s the real winner here?

“are you gonna tell me, or are we gonna stand around and wait until i manage to guess and figure it out?” 

Asking that is a mistake. Like flipping a switch, Undyne goes from secretive scientist mode to the patent-pending Undyne Rush Rant ™. Papyrus — who is admittedly more used to following her ramblings in text form on the Undernet — manages to follow along with her. Barely. It takes a few seconds after she stops talking for everything to fully process.

As soon as it sort of clicks, he asks, “was this all some elaborate scheme to get me to go on a double date with you?”

“I p-prefer ‘ploy,’” she sniffs, like a small change in wording makes all the difference. “And yes. Keep up, Papyrus.”

Defensively, he protests, “i’m trying.”

“Try harder,” she retorts. Plunking her mad scientist toolbox onto the nearest space on her tables that _isn’t_ covered by the remains of microwaved ramen, Undyne starts rifling through it. “Is it a d-date?”

“maybe?”

Undyne freezes, a chainsaw half pulled out of the box. Yikes. Talk about bad timing. “W-what do you mean, ‘m-maybe’?”

Slowly, Papyrus backs away, putting more space between him and Undyne’s chainsaw. Just in case. “i mean i’m not making any promises. this isn’t just up to me, you know.”

“ _Fine_. C-can you just talk to them, or whatever?”

That… is actually a pretty reasonable request. “sure thing, ‘dyne. but you owe me one.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she says dismissively, shoving the chainsaw back and taking out a broadsword? Why is _that_ in the toolbox? Actually, it’s probably better not to ask; Papyrus isn’t sure he wants to understand that particular branch of Undyne’s logic. “N-now let me work in peace.”

 

* * *

 

From what you can tell, inviting Papyrus over with the promise of food works every time. 

It doesn’t even have to be _good_ food; one side of his grilled cheese is more than a little burnt and the soda you pulled out of the fridge is pretty flat. But hey, food is food, especially when it doesn’t involve Papyrus making it. 

Dragging your own sandwich across your plate, you dredge up the initiative to bring up your conversation with Alphys. “Hey, I’ve got something I need to tell you.”

“oh, same,” he responds, mouth filled halfway with sandwich and legs dangling over the arm of your couch. “who should go first?”

You shrug. “Doesn’t really matter to me.”

“okay.”

And then, neither of you go first. In fact, you just stare at each other, waiting patiently for the other to start talking. Not one of your stronger moments.

Eventually, you decide to bite the bullet and just go for it.

“Alphys was wondering if we would go out on a double date with her and Undyne —”

“— ‘dyne asked me to ask you if you’d be okay to do a double date sometime.”

The two of you freeze, thrown off by the other speaking at the same time. What he says then clicks.

“Wait, _Undyne_ —”

“— the captain?”

As much you try, you can’t help but laugh at your simultaneous reactions. You put up your hand, an attempt to signal your plan to open your mouth before a third round of awkwardness can be achieved. “Are you telling me _Undyne_ spoke to you about this?”

“yep.”

That is strange, mostly because… “Alphys made it seem like it was _her_ plan.” 

Papyrus shrugs. “i mean, it might’ve been, originally, but undyne straight up tricked me to go to her labs. almost drew a weapon on me, actually, until i promised to talk to you about it. i’m _pretty_ sure she’s involved.”

“But…” Your voice trails off in realisation.

_Damn it, Alphys._

“those two are conspiring again,” Papyrus confirms. _Just like our first date_ goes unspoken.

Because that is _exactly_ what this is, isn’t it? Alphys wears you down, Undyne goes after Papyrus and BOOM!; the two of you were sitting together in a bar on a blind date because they had gotten through your collective resolve. 

And, it is going to be even harder to turn them down this time. After all, they have attacked on both sides, essentially getting you and Papyrus to agree indirectly. You can’t use your anticipated excuse of saying Papyrus doesn’t want to go, because he has already talked with Undyne about it. Likewise, he can’t just go and claim you are the one who isn’t feeling it.

This is a mess.

It is at times like these, you occasionally have some slight, minor regrets regarding your friendships.

 

* * *

 

This… this is hell.

Now, don’t get it wrong. You like Alphys; you haven’t been friends with her for nothing, after all. And, even though you don’t really know her personally, Undyne seems decent, albeit a little unnerving. And obviously, you are very chill when it comes to spending time with Papyrus.

No, the problem isn’t the company, per se. The real issue lies in _how_ you are expected to spend time with all of them right now.

From the moment you ringed their front door, Alphys and Undyne have been losing their collective shit because _apparently_ , you and Papyrus are ‘too kawaii’. Unlike Sans — who you now realise is pretty chill when it comes to accepting you and his brother as a couple — these two seem to need you and Papyrus to be overly lovey-dovey in the same way cattails need water to grow.

Take now, for instance. 

As the evening progressed, you have gone from merely sitting beside Papyrus to cuddling with him to being straight up in his lap. Strangely enough, it isn’t as uncomfortable as one would imagine sitting on an actual skeleton would be. Yes, there is undoubtedly a boniness, but not to the extreme you would expect.

You are overly aware of Papyrus’ each and every move. It doesn’t help, of course, that he has to reach around you to do anything. You find yourself ducking, not wanting to be in his way when he grabs his drink. This, it seems, is also cute, provided you are reading Alphys’ reactions properly. 

On the plus side, Papyrus is nice and warm. The coziness of this whole scene at least provides a silver lining in your current torment.

Alphys focuses her eye on you intently. “Truth or dare, punk?"

You try not to grimace. Truly, this game is the worst of the worst, given your ‘dating’ predicament. 

Telling the truth is risky business; as nice as it would be to have an excuse to give up the ruse, you are _terrified_ as to what would happen afterwards. Your visit with the queen — ~~which you still haven’t told Papyrus about~~ — still looms in your mind.

Choosing dares doesn’t really help you, either. Ignoring the fact that Alphys overestimates your capabilities at the best of times, the temptation for her and her girlfriend to create dares which also involve Papyrus is impossible for them to resist, it seems. The only person you can trust is Papyrus, which means the odds aren’t in your favour.

“Truth,” you end up deciding. You would have needed to go with that eventually.

Alphys smirks, sending a glance over to Undyne. Then, they both turn to face you with waggling brows. “What’s your favourite thing about Papyrus?” Their brows keep bouncing up and down, just in case you had missed what she was implying with the question.

Well, the joke’s on her; you have a feeling that even if you _were_ actually dating him, you would answer the same way.

“My favourite thing about Rus? I’d have to say how he’s always so good at making me smile.”

“aw, jeez…” he mumbles. Looking over your shoulder, you can see his cheeks lighting up with a rusty hue as he tugs at his hood to obscure his face. Undyne squeals about how adorably pure and wholesome of an answer that was, and he gives up completely, tucking his face into your shoulder to hide.

“I guess that’s pretty cute,” Alphys admits, although she sounds pretty miffed about the whole thing. “Your turn.”

You hum, looking around the room. “Undyne. Truth or dare?”

“T-truth,” she chooses without hesitation.

“All right.” Hmm, now you have to think of something good. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”

To your surprise, Papyrus lifts his skull from your shoulder and bursts out laughing.

“Shut _up_ , P-Papyrus!” Undyne hisses, razor-like teeth gnashing together.

“please,” he begs you, “let me answer.”

“No, bu—” you cut yourself off, quickly changing your choice of nickname for the benefit of the ruse, “— _babe_.” Man, it feels weird to call him that. From now on, fake relationship or not, you are sticking with buddy. “It’s Undyne’s question, so she has to answer.”

“S-suck on that.”

“you still have to answer, though.”

She doesn’t retort to that. However, Undyne’s expression speaks very clearly of someone who is mentally listing through every expletive in existence to use against him. 

Alphys grabs her hand. Immediately, Undyne softens, smiling at her girlfriend. She keeps looking at Alphys as she responds, “B-before we met, I watched Alphys on my c-cameras.”

“for how long?” Papyrus prompts with a shit-eating grin.

“F-five years,” she sighs, a hint of purple rising to her blue scales.

“and what did ya do when i offered to help you send her a message?”

“Shut. Up.” Before he can interject once more, Undyne loudly says, “P-Papyrus. Truth or dare?”

“let’s go with a dare this time.”

Alphys leans over to whisper in Undyne’s ear. “Oooh~ G-good idea, Alphy.” 

You don’t like the predatory smile that stretches over her face. 

Not at all.

“Papyrus,” Undyne says slowly, “I dare you t-to m-make out with your datemate for t-two minutes.”

“Or more.”

“Or m-more.”

A pit forms in your stomach. This… this is pushing the boundaries of your fake relationship too far. They can’t honestly… even if you were dating, shouldn’t you get a say? Making out in front of an audience, with no desire to do so?

You just _can’t_.

Words failing you, you bolt out of Papyrus’ lap. You rush to the nearest room you are familiar with, which happens to be their kitchen. Slamming the door behind you, you slump down onto the floor. 

Part of you considers texting Papyrus to tell him you want to go home. It is really tempting, actually. If you want, he could probably take you in one of his shortcuts.

Behind you, the kitchen door opens. “are you okay?”

“No.”

Papyrus shuffles a little closer, his tall shadow showing his every move even as your back is turned to him. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“Don’t be. It’s not _your_ fault.”

Another small shuffle lessens the space between you two. “do you…”

The hesitancy in his voice causes you to look up and turn towards him. He is fiddling with his hoodie strings, not looking you in the eye. “Do I what?”

“do you wanna hug?”

“Kinda.” And by kinda, you mean absolutely. As soon as he opens his arms in offering, you find yourself surging forward.

~~A small, guilty part of you asks why you are completely okay with this, but the idea of kissing him was enough for you to run away to the kitchen, completely freaked out. You try to ignore this and just enjoy the comfort that Papyrus has offered.~~

As always, Papyrus is surprisingly warm, like towels fresh out of the dryer. In short, it makes him the perfect person to hug when upset. His arms wrap around you easily, drawing you close without crossing the line of feeling claustrophobic or stifling.

“she shouldn’t’ve asked us to do that.” Papyrus pauses, adding, “undyne, she isn’t always the best at boundaries.”

Before you can help it, you tense up, pulling away from him. “Are you trying to excuse her?”

Too fast, Papyrus answers, “no!” He exhales. “maybe…” Slowly, he plops down on the floor. You join him. “i don’t know.”

For a while, neither of you say anything. Sitting leaned up against Alphys and Undyne’s kitchen cupboards certainly isn’t comfortable, but you aren’t ready to return to the living room. Not yet. Each time you consider it, the rush of hurt and anger comes back, strong as ever.

You are the one to break the silence, your voice cracking.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp... that happened.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	14. A Decision and a Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You come to an important decision regarding your fake relationship with Papyrus.

Shit.

Papyrus… what is he supposed to do?

He has never been good at the whole comforting thing. Sure, he can sometimes with Sans after his flare-ups, but that’s _Sans_ , his older brother whom he has known his whole life! It’s different. 

Right now, you seem to be on the verge of crying, tears already welling up in your eyes. Not _sad_ , really, but an awful combination of angry, upset and frustrated with a hint of stress that is probably getting stronger and stronger by the second. He gets it. There’s no way to go about this without someone getting hurt. Telling Undyne and Alphys the truth won’t only hurt their feelings, but it will hurt you and him. Trust will be broken in your friendship with Alphys and his with Undyne, something which will be impossible to fix. 

But not telling them will hurt you. 

Scratch that; it already is hurting you. Undyne and Alphys, they crossed a line with their game of truth or dare. Not only that, but you have had to put up with all of his brother’s nonsense. No one deserves that. Especially not you.

You shudder, accidentally brushing against him. Your breathing is still mega unsteady, and the combination of the two things is the reminder that kicks Papyrus in the coccyx. He is supposed to be helping you.

Part of him instinctively wants to give you another hug. Hugs are good, right? … No, not right now, they aren’t. You don’t look like you would welcome it at the moment, plus you have already drawn away. It would probably only make things worse.

So, if hugs are out, that leaves… talking? Yeah, talking would be a good idea. A great idea, in fact; they will need to discuss a lot of things before even thinking of going back out to face the others.

The only problem is, talking — actually talking with the goal to get anywhere — would be best if both of them are coherent. Currently, you aren’t doing so great on that front. Papyrus isn’t doing much better, which is becoming more and more of a problem the longer they stay in here, because the last thing either of them need is for Undyne or Alphys to walk in while you are having a breakdown from the stress of everything and he is on the verge of having a panic attack because you are having a breakdown from the stress and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Okay. That also isn’t helping. Deep breath.

Still hovering uselessly, Papyrus circles back to his original question. How can he help?

Absently, he thinks back to the game of truth or dare. Before it had all gone to shit, there had been something you said. There was something genuine in it, as embarrassingly cheesy as it was. Something that might actually have a chance of working.

“ _My favourite thing about Rus?_ ” you had said, the purest expression on your face. “ _I'd_ _have to say how he’s always so good at making me smile._ ”

Now, all he has to do is put that ability to the test.

“hey,” he says softly, shuffling to move beside you. “how do you fix a broken brass instrument?” Eyes still watery, you incline your head up to him. Going with a music joke is always a good bet where you are involved. Your mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. That’s okay; he can continue on from here just fine. Gently nudging your side — barely allowing his hoodie to come into contact with you — he delivers the punch line. “with a _tuba_ glue.”

You don’t smile. Not in the official sense of the word. However, the corners of your lips relax from their stressed frown to a more neutral expression. Even better is the twinkling glint in your eye, which isn’t simply a result of accumulating tears making them look shiny. Rather, it as a hint of the you he knows and cares for. 

It’s a good sign.

 

* * *

 

You needed that.

Tonight has been a lot. Just all the little things building up with your ridiculous charade. 

You haven’t even stopped to think about how Papyrus is doing when this affects him just as much as you. How does he feel? _You’re_ the one who ran out of the room like you were dodging a bullet. You left him behind to deal with the shrapnel.

Nope, you don’t want to think about that right now.

Instead, you lick your lips, considering an appropriate response. “Thanks, my dude,” is what you settle on. Then, feeling the need to reciprocate, you add, “You know, you should go into comedy. Skeletons are pretty great at stand-up when they use their _funny bone_ ”

Bingo. Papyrus laughs with that cute little _nyeh heh heh_ of his. “stars, that is so bad!” Still, there is a hint of a reddish-orange glow making its way onto those angular cheekbones of his. It’s sweet, even if you promptly ruin it as soon as you open your mouth once more.

“Pfft. What’s your excuse, then?”

Holding one hand to his chest, Papyrus gasps and staggers across the kitchen, clutching at the countertop with his other hand. “i’ll have you know,” he says, fake wounded, “my sense of humour is legendary.”

“Legendarily corny, maybe.”

“i made you laugh,” he points out.

“Yeah, but my sense of humour is garbage.”

“rude!”

“Aww,” you say teasingly, moving to lean against his side, “did I hurt your feelings?”

“of course! you just insulted my friend.”

Aah! Direct hit to the feels! Damn it, Rus. Now, you have to shove down the ridiculously fuzzy feeling that sentence brings as you nudge him in the ribs. “Ugh, just like I said: corn alert!”

As he continues to snicker at your antics, you take the time to reflect. From the living room, you can hear Alphys and Undyne whispering together, although you have no idea what they are saying. A few moments later, you speak up again, decision made.

“I’m ready to go back now.”

Papyrus’ eye sockets widen, and he straightens up. “you sure? i could just bring you home if you want.”

Your heart warms at the offer. Tempting as it is, you feel as though you have to turn it down. “I should at least say goodbye before ditching.”

He nods. “do you need me to talk to them first?”

Again; tempting. But, as you look up at your lanky friend, you shake your head. “Nah, I’ve got this. Although, I’d appreciate the moral support.”

“well,” Papyrus says, drawing out the word, “moral support is somethin’ i can do.”

 

* * *

 

Hand in hand,  you and Papyrus return to the living room. There, two pairs — or, one and a half pairs, you guess — of eyes stare up at you guiltily. Good. Undyne is half-hidden behind loose strands of hair that have escaped her messy bun, peering out from under it. 

Alphys clears her throat. “So,” she starts crisply, “me and ‘Dyne were talking…” She trails off, only to look down at her drink. The avoidance is strong in the atmosphere. 

“Yes…” you prompt. Papyrus’ hand squeezes yours.

Undyne answers for her girlfriend. “N-nothing. D-does anyone want some p-pizza? Alphy’s ordering some.”

Suppressing an exasperated sigh, you say, “I’m good, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Alphys pushes. Somehow, you get the impression this is as close to an apology as you are getting; a heavily masked check into how you’re feeling, vaguely acknowledging the fact that she said something you weren’t okay with. It hurts, but you aren’t surprised in the slightest. Besides, to be fully honest with yourself, you need some time before you go through all of this with Alphys. Your anger is too fresh.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Rus and I think it’s time to head back for the night, though.” There is no way you are going to try and stay for the sake of normalcy. Even now, it’s obvious that the mood will be dampened for the rest of the night, like a wound that is left to become infected. Going home at this point is the metaphorical equivalent of disinfecting and bandaging it.

 

* * *

 

As soon as all the typical farewells are said, you and Papyrus grab your coats and head directly to his place. With him also living in the monster district, it makes a heck of a lot more sense to go there than to go halfway across town to your place, only for Papyrus to need to go back. Neither of you says a word about what happened tonight, sticking to walking in silence.

Standing behind him, you watch as he unlocks his front door. It takes some time… there are a lot of locks to go through. You have never really noticed that before. Keys jangle, Papyrus moving easily through them while he moves down the door. You shift your weight back and forth between your legs until the final clink.

Papyrus barely stops to kick off his unlaced sneakers before leading you to the living room. You, on the other hand, nearly trip in the process of removing your own shoes. Twice. Per shoe. Tonight really isn’t your night. You allow him to usher you over to the couch, settling in. In a literal blink of an eye, he shortcuts away. As much as you are starting to get used to seeing him disappear out of thin air, it’s still _so_ trippy. Before you can even begin to process it, he returns, two glasses of chocolate milk in hand.

Passing you the shorter of the glasses, Papyrus sinks down beside you. He doesn’t look at you, instead staring at the turned-off tv.

“so... is it time for us to ‘break up’ now?”

 _Yes._  

You are so ready to say yes, to free yourself from this disaster. You are so ready to uncomplicate everything and be allowed to be friends with him, no added pressure. 

You want this.

Unfortunately, the muscle coordination to actually put this into words isn’t fast enough. Not when you get mentally derailed by Sans walking in, dialing on his phone.

“Sans?”

He looks up, his index finger poised over the screen. His mouth his pressed into a frown, even as he says, “OH, THANK THE STARS. I WAS JUST GOING TO CALL YOU, PAPYRUS.” Each word is too crisp, too staccato. Worse yet is hearing Sans call him ‘Papyrus’ directly to his face… you have only heard him call him that when he is dead serious about something. Their constant dynamic as siblings is to ‘bro’ and ‘brother’ each other. Heck, most of the time Sans talks to you, he still calls Papyrus ‘my brother’. To hear him go straight there, without so much as a hello?

Papyrus only goes to validate your concerns. You can feel it as he straightens up from his near-permanent slouch, a gentle curve of warmth snapping perfectly vertical. It’s unnerving. In those two short sentences, something has changed. 

Something is wrong.

It doesn’t even sound like _your_ Rus when he quietly drawls, “what’s up, sans?” 

You don’t like this one bit.

“I HATE TO RUIN YOUR DATE NIGHT,” he starts, flicking his gaze to you before tucking away his phone, hands clasped behind his back. The conversational part of your brain chimes in with a quiet _too late for that_. Most of your thoughts, however, center around Sans. His presence is too formal to be standing in front of a half-finished jelly beans puzzle. Too late, the perfect descriptor pops into mind: Sans looks militaristic.

You _really_ don’t like this.

“HOWEVER,” Sans continues, heedless of your current unease, “I’D RATHER YOU HAVE THE MOST TIME POSSIBLE TO EMOTIONALLY PREPARE YOURSELF, BROTHER.”

Papyrus jolts. His expression has gone completely rictus. Yet, his voice is stronger than you would have expected when he asks, “what is it?”

“HER MAJESTY IS GOING TO CALL YOU IN.”

“no.” 

Concerned, you turn to the tall skeleton. “Rus?”

He doesn’t acknowledge you. You don’t even know if he can see you; his eye lights have fizzled out. “no. i won’t do it.”

“I’M SORRY, BROTHER,” Sans soothes, face gentling, “BUT YOU HAVE NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER. YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.”

“i can’t!” Papyrus repeats, bursting to his feet, shaking the couch in the process. “i can’t and i won’t!” His eye lights are back, but flaring wildly. It creates an eerie glow against the paleness of his skull. “she can’t make me do this — and don’t you _dare_ remind me, sans, i don’t want to hear it.” 

To your relief, after a few more seconds of frantic pacing, his magic calms down. He takes a deep breath. Then, his voice uncharacteristically full of venom, he says a sentence which resonates deep within you, even if you don’t understand the context.

“i hate her.”

“YOU CAN’T SAY THAT,” Sans says lowly. Pleadingly.

“like hell i can’t!”

Torn between shrinking into couch cushions and jumping to your feet to comfort him, you end up sitting uselessly with your arms outreached as Papyrus continues his tirade. It boils down to him venting his various unpleasant feelings for Toriel, with a creative amount of curses thrown in. He is _loud_ , and it worries you. Papyrus normally isn’t this loud.

What is Toriel making him do?

Finally, Sans has enough. He grabs his brother by the sleeve of his hoodie, looking up to him.

“PAPYRUS,” he begs, Sans actually _begs_ , “PLEASE. I CAN’T HEAR YOU SAY THAT. IT’S _TREASON_.”

Papyrus turns his head to the side. “so what? we’re on the surface now.”

“I STILL WORK UNDER HER MAJESTY. I CAN’T HAVE YOU PUT MY JOB AT RISK…” Then, more quietly — likely with the goal of you not hearing — he adds, “PLEASE, BROTHER… WE NEED THIS JOB.”

This is what gets Papyrus to pause. He looks down at his brother, and okay, this is definitely a _them_ moment, so you avert your eyes. It’s only after Papyrus softly mutters, “screw toriel,” that you look up. 

By that point, he is gone, leaving you alone with Sans.

“WELL.”

“Yeah…” At a loss for words, you down your chocolate milk. Then, you stand up. “I guess I should, um, get out of your hair now.” Wait. “Not hair. I’ll get out of your… skull?” No, that’s worse. 

“ACTUALLY, WE NEED TO TALK.”

Okay, with everything else that has been going on, those are a combination of words you _really_ don’t want to hear. Yet, you find yourself sitting back down. Part of it is definitely the exhaustion present on Sans’ face; it makes him look more like his brother, and not in a good way. Another part is… well, you have questions, and he might be able to give you some answers.

“FIRST OFF,” Sans says, moving across the living room to find a place of his own to sit, “I MUST ASK YOU TO FORGET ALL THE… _UNSAVOURY_ THINGS MY BROTHER MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE SAID REGARDING THE HEAD MATRIARCH. IT’S IN THE BETTER INTERESTS OF ALL OF US, YOURSELF INCLUDED.”

“Understood.” As much as you agree with the unsavoury things, you can definitely get what Sans is getting at here. 

Even if you have _just_ remembered another reason to be mad at Toriel. 

“GOOD.” Sans rubs at the bridge of his nasal bone, visibly working through his wording. “WHAT I REALLY WANTED TO ASK YOU, THOUGH, IS THAT OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, PLEASE, BE HERE FOR MY BROTHER. EMOTIONALLY… WHAT IS BEING ASKED OF HIM TRULY WRECKS HIM. HOPEFULLY, IT ISN’T AS BAD AS IT USED TO BE, NOW THAT WE’RE ON THE SURFACE.” He pauses, reflectively. “YES,” he settles upon firmly. “I CAN GUARANTEE IT WILL BE; THE LAWS UP HERE ARE DIFFERENT, AFTER ALL.”

 _The laws up here are different?!_ You are scared to so much as consider what that implies, let alone to ask. But, if knowing will make it easier to help Papyrus… 

“What, exactly, is it that she wants Rus to do?”

Sans shakes his head apologetically. “I’M SORRY. THAT’S CLASSIFIED.”

Again, not reassuring.

Before you have too much time to dwell — and worry — your phone chimes with a few notes of kazoo. “Papyrus,” you tell Sans as you dig your phone out of your pocket. The other day, you had let him record some personal notification sounds for his number. He even bought a cheap ocarina to customise your ringtone.

 **rus:** can you come up?

 **rus:** please?

In an attempt to be reassuring — at this point, there isn’t a single person, human or monster, in this house that doesn’t need some reassurance — you flip your phone around so Sans can see the messages. He nods. “GOOD LUCK.”

“Thanks.”

You barely make it up the stairs to Papyrus’ room before you hear a watery, “i’m sorry.”

“Oh, Rus, sweetheart.” 

You rush in, allowing his door to swing shut behind you. Quickly, you find a relatively empty spot to set down his chocolate milk, which you had brought up with the hopes it might help. From there, you don’t hesitate to climb on his mattress beside him, crooning softly. 

“No, you have no need to apologise. Not about the Toriel thing.” You scooch closer, tucking the soft blanket tangled by his feet around his shoulders. “None of this is your fault, Rus, and you’re allowed to feel how you feel.” Goodness knows that you have your own feelings about Toriel, and she hasn’t really done anything to you. Not yet, at least. “Is there anything I can do?”

At first, he doesn’t answer. You consider repeating your question when he says, voice cracking, “i dunno.”

Unreservedly, you wrap your arms around this tall friend of yours, heart shattering. And, for the next several minutes, that’s where you stay: rocking him back and forth on his mattress until he desperately decides to return the embrace. It’s absolutely bone-crushing, a pun you are sure he would appreciate under different circumstances. But, even if you can’t do anything else to help, the least you can do is indulge him in this.

Papyrus eventually releases his grip, although he makes no attempts to move away from you.

“we, uh, never finished our conversation, huh? about the dating thing,” he clarifies.

“I know.” You resist the urge to drum your fingers, considering that your hands are still resting on Papyrus’ shoulders. You know what you have to say, even if it isn’t what you want to say.

“are we gonna talk?”

“Yeah.” You still can’t believe you are actually going to say this. Not after everything tonight.

“so…”

You take a deep breath.

You can feel the regrets already.

“I think we should keep fake dating.”

Papyrus blinks, confusion clear. “but, you said —”

“I know. I know that I did.” And you still agree with your earlier statement: you really don’t think you can do this anymore. However… “Just for a little longer, I promise. There’s…” you trail off hesitantly. You know so little — nothing, really — about Papyrus’ situation with Toriel. How can you explain what she wants the two of you to do without causing him any more hurt? You need to tell him, but that would be too much tonight; as much as you want to rip that bandage off at this point, it’s still too soon. “... reasons.”

Thankfully, he accepts your change of heart. He asks one more question, a really good one. “what do we do, though? something needs to change.”

“We need to slow down,” you say, the words gradually coming to you. “Right now? It’s just too much. We’re —” you stifle a laugh, realising just how much this sounds like a legit thing you would hypothetically say to an actual significant other, “— we’re moving too fast.”

“okay.” Papyrus cracks a smile. If it is still a little shaky, well, can you blame him? “it’s a good thing that your bonefriend is a lazybones, then. slow is my go-to speed.”

“Says the teleporter.”

He shrugs, moving your hands up and down. “i have to make up for it somehow. law of balance and all that.” Leaning forward, he rests his chin on your shoulder, even though it bends his back in a way that has to be at least slightly uncomfortable. “could you…”

“Could I what?” you prompt.

“could you stay a little longer?”

Holding him closer, you murmur, “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cool fact: this chapter took a turn which meant that I had to rearrange the order of some of my chapters — and the tropes that accompany them. Take that as you will.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


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